


Beyond The Darkness

by Valentina_Ivan



Category: BBC Sherlock, Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Abduction, Angst, Family History, Gen, Hurt Lestrade, Hurt/Comfort, Memories, Paralysis, Past Relationship(s), Revenge, past angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-20
Updated: 2016-03-16
Packaged: 2018-04-16 06:29:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 27,120
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4614744
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Valentina_Ivan/pseuds/Valentina_Ivan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lestrade is abducted and subjected to a cruel revenge plot by a figure from his past. Sherlock, John and the members of Scotland Yard search desperately for the inspector before it's too late.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Darkness

**Author's Note:**

> This is only the third fic I've written, again it has not been beta-d, brit-picked, med-checked or anything else. Everything I got from internet research. Again, I do not live in the UK, so I'm not sure about the tunnels. I used several historical sites along with conspiracy theorist sites and Google Earth to come up with it so I'm not sure if there really is a tunnel there or not.  
> I separated this into 2 parts, this is only part 1. I haven't finished the second part yet, however I hope to get it up in the next few days.  
> Also, there are a few spoilers for Study in Pink and Scandal in Belgravia, if you have not seen either of those episodes yet.  
> As always, any comments or feedback is greatly appreciated.
> 
> Update 8-26-15: It is taking a while longer to finish part 2, I am in the process of moving, so it is taking a while longer than I thought it would, but I will have it up as soon as I finish it.

Scotland Yard was buzzing with its normal activity. Phones were ringing with leads, tips and questions about previous or ongoing cases; officers going back and forth from other desks, offices, and the file room. On the surface it appeared to be just another day, just like the last time John and Sherlock been there.

                It had been almost 3 weeks since they were there though. Due to the rising popularity of John’s blog, they had more and more private cases, plus John was busy at the surgery and Sherlock was working on a case for Mycroft. Neither one of them thought anything about the fact that Lestrade hadn’t contacted them in that amount of time. John had simply assumed that he didn’t need Sherlock, had been able to solve his cases himself.

                They were actually working on a private case when they went to the Yard. Sherlock needed to talk to Lestrade about it.

                “What do you want Freak?” Donovan greeted him sardonically when he and John entered. “Didn’t think we’d be seeing you.”

                “Well lucky you, I need to talk to Lestrade,” Sherlock didn’t even break his stride on his way to Lestrade’s office.

                “He’s not in there.” Donovan informed him.

                “Is he out? When do you expect him back?” Sherlock demanded.

                “We don’t.” Donovan almost sounded like she was mocking him. ”Detective Inspector Lestrade resigned 2 weeks ago. Thought you knew.”

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**_Two weeks earlier_ **

Lestrade was nervous. This was the first time he’d been on a date since his divorce. He had decided to try an online dating service, as it was too difficult to meet someone under regular circumstances due to his work. He didn’t expect much, but then he met Stacy. She was smart, funny, and didn’t mind that Lestrade was a copper. They had started off just e-mailing and IM-ing each other. Eventually that led to phone calls and text messages, and now they were meeting for the first time.

 Lestrade had actually spent almost an hour getting ready. He wanted to look his absolute best, not like the tired DI that most people saw. The pictures of her on her profile were absolutely gorgeous. He hoped they were actually her.

He hadn’t been at the restaurant long before he found out. An undeniably stunning brunette walked towards him.

 “Greg?” She asked hesitantly.

 “Yes, you must be Stacy,” He said, standing to pull her chair out for her, before sitting back down. He did remember some things about dating. “It’s nice to finally meet you.”

  “You also. I was so nervous coming over here; wasn’t sure if you would actually look like your profile.” She confessed.

   “I thought the same thing.” Lestrade told her laughing as he signaled the waiter over.

   It turned out to be a fantastic evening. They laughed, they drank, Lestrade was really beginning to like her.

“No, really? You were at the last World Cup final?” Lestrade asked her. He was impressed by how much she liked football.

“First row seats. It was amazing too. Though, still like the Arsenal games better. Have to support my team.” She grinned.

“You’re an Arsenal supporter?” Lestrade asked in disbelief.

“Since birth. My dad was big supporter. He used to take me to the games when I was a little girl.” She took another sip of her wine.

They kept talking, drank almost 2 bottles of wine, it started getting late though, and Lestrade was starting to get woozy from the wine. He reluctantly decided to call it a night.

Lestrade walked her outside after paying the bill. He was going to hail a cab for her, but she said she wanted to walk; her flat was only a couple blocks away. He offered to walk with her, his wasn’t much further.

He started getting dizzy, everything started to spin, thought maybe he should have cut back on the wine. Something didn’t seem right though. He almost tripped, stopped for a moment to orient himself. Stacy looked at him with concern.

“Are you alright?” She asked.

“Think I had too much wine,” Lestrade had trouble getting the words out. He could hear them slurring. Stacy’s face began to swim in front of him. She grabbed his arm to keep him upright, steady him.

Lestrade knew something was wrong, he wasn’t drunk from the wine, something else was happening to him. He realized it too late though. Before he knew it, he was being pushed into the backseat of a car. Then everything went completely black.

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“What do you mean, Lestrade _resigned_?” Sherlock growled at Donovan. He was shocked. That wasn’t like Lestrade. Sherlock knew something wasn’t right.

“He resigned. Gave his letter of resignation to the DCI more than 2 weeks ago; we haven’t seen or heard from him since.” Donovan shrugged.

“What did the DCI say when Lestrade gave it to him?” John asked, he was just as shocked as Sherlock. “Surely he tried to convince him otherwise.”

“The DCI never saw Lestrade. He left the letter on the DCI’s desk before he came in. Said he didn’t want anyone to try to talk him out of it.”

This wasn’t right, Sherlock thought. There was no way Lestrade would resign and just leave a letter, not telling anyone. Besides, Lestrade loved his job. It was hard on him at times, but he wouldn’t just quit unless something happened.

“Do you still have the letter he left?” Sherlock asked.

“It’s in his file.” Donovan was becoming irritated. Lestrade wasn’t there, so Sherlock needed to leave.

“I need to see it,” Sherlock insisted.

“You can’t. Personnel files are confidential. There’s no way I’m letting you look at Lestrade’s.” Donovan asserted.

“Please let me see. There has to be something else going on. Why would Lestrade just quit, without warning?” Sherlock looked like he might be pleading.

“Sergeant, what harm would it do to let Sherlock look over the letter? If Lestrade resigned then there’s not much Sherlock can do, is there?” John was trying to keep things civil between the two of them.

“Fine,” Donovan sighed,” Wait here.” She turned and stalked down the hallway to the personnel office.

“What are you thinking?” John asked Sherlock.

“Lestrade wouldn’t just quit. The Met is all he has. Besides, he may be a little dim, but he does have morals and ethics. He wouldn’t resign just by leaving a letter on the DCI’s desk. “

“So, then what do you think happened?”

“I’m not sure, but Lestrade’s in trouble. “

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When Lestrade came to, his head was throbbing, everything was dark, it took a few seconds for him to realize the room he was in was completely dark, there wasn’t even a trace of light. He lying on something, it was soft, like a bed, but not quite. He tried to shake his head to clear it, he couldn’t though. He tried to move his arms and legs, they wouldn’t move either. He couldn’t sit up; he tried to call out but couldn’t move his lips. The inspector began to panic. He was completely paralyzed. He couldn’t move, he couldn’t speak, everything was dark, he couldn’t hear a sound

either. He felt something on the back of his hand. An IV, he was being drugged with something.

Slowly he began to remember the evening leading up to this. His date with Stacy, the feeling he had when they left. He felt a sinking feeling when he realized what had happened, and her name probably wasn’t Stacy.

Why though? Why was he here? Why was he being drugged so he couldn’t move? He was pretty sure he had never seen her before, so why?

He was sure the Met would be looking for him soon though. When he didn’t come in for work the next day, his team would know something was wrong, they’d start investigating. He hoped they found him soon.

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“Here’s the letter,” Donovan thrust the paper at Sherlock. He snatched it and began studying it.

**_“DCI Woods,_ **

**_I am hereby tending my resignation as Detective Inspector with The Metropolitan Police Service. I feel due to recent events I am unable to continue as a DI. This is becoming too demanding emotionally and psychologically. I can no longer provide reasonable service or guidance to the public or my team. Please understand and respect this decision and do not attempt to contact me or change my decision. I have resolved this is what is best for myself and my team._ **

**_Best Regards,_ **

**_Gregory Lestrade_ **

**_Former Detective Inspector Gregory Lestrade_ **

Sherlock read the letter several times, studying every word and sentence. Finally he looked up, “This isn’t right.” He told Donovan.

 “It was his choice. He had a hard time after his last case. Guess he decided he couldn’t continue.” Donovan responded.

  “That’s not what I mean,” Sherlock countered impatiently. “Lestrade didn’t write this.”

   “Why would someone else write a letter of resignation for Lestrade?”

   “Because they don’t want anyone looking for him.”

 ‘What are you going off about Freak?” Donovan was getting irritated.

   “Someone else wrote this letter; whoever it is is going to a lot of trouble to make sure no looks for him.”

    “Why?”

“I don’t know. He’s in trouble though. We have to find him.”

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Lestrade didn’t know how long he had been there. Everything was completely dark, he couldn’t see anything and he couldn’t move. He was trapped, lying in the dark, completely paralyzed. He didn’t want to admit, he always tried to appear calm and stable, but he was scared. He had no idea what was going on. He felt something wet on his cheeks. He was crying.

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“How can you tell someone else wrote that?” Donovan demanded.

                “Read it. When have you ever heard Lestrade use phrases like ‘I have resolved’ or ‘I can no longer provide reasonable service?’ “Sherlock insisted.

                “He was probably trying to sound professional; wanted it to be taken seriously.” Donovan sighed, exasperated.

                “No, that’s not it. No matter how professional he wanted to sound, he wouldn’t use words like that. In case you never noticed, he has a rather limited vocabulary.”

                “It’s time for you to leave Freak. Now you’re just insulting him. He’s had a rough time recently. Apparently he decided he couldn’t do it anymore and chose to resign. I personally don’t agree with his decision, but it was his, and I will respect it, I suggest you do the same.” Donovan started to walk away; Sherlock grabbed her shoulder to stop her.

                “Look, we both know Lestrade and have worked with him. Does he really strike you as the person that would just leave something like this on the DCI’s desk without telling anyone? He may havehad a rough time recently, but Lestrade loves his job. This is all he has. He’s not going to give it up simply because he had a couple cases go bad.” Sherlock didn’t know what else to do to convince Donovan that Lestrade needed help. He knew they were losing time though. If something had happened to Lestrade over two weeks ago, then they may already be too late.

`````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````             

Lestrade was spending a lot of time thinking about his own past and what could have lead up to him being here. He let everyone believe he was from the city, but in reality, he grew up in the village of Greenham in Berkshire on a farm. He remembered his dad waking him up at 4:30 every morning because “The cows don’t know how to milk themselves.” He spent most of his time as a teenager working outside, helping his parents with chores. Greg was home-schooled from the time he was 11. He remembered his primary school, how much he wanted to stay, continue to secondary, his parents wouldn’t let him though. They needed his help on the farm, they couldn’t afford to hire anyone to help them, so it was up to Greg and his parents and brother.

                He remembered how he and his brother, Jeffrey, used to play in the barn when they were little. His mom would yell at them not to play there because it was dangerous. They never believed her though. They used to race each other across the pulley ropes that stretched across the barn ceiling to lift hay into the loft. They never thought it was dangerous. Of course, they grew out of that as they grew older. In fact, they hadn’t raced each other in several years, until one day, when Greg was about 12 he and Jeffrey got into an argument over who should clean the chicken coop that day. Looking back it seemed so unimportant. They started off just yelling at each other, but being brothers that escalated to shoving and punching until they were both on the ground. Jeffrey got up first and ran up the hay loft with Greg not far behind him.

                “You have to catch me if you want me to clean them,” Jeffrey called as he grabbed one of the pulley ropes, which at this point they were no longer using, their father having installed an electrical pulley system and hadn’t yet removed the ropes.

                Greg grabbed the other rope and followed closely behind Jeffrey, was catching up to him, almost had him. Jeffrey’s rope snapped under his weight. He fell to floor of the barn, the spear used to lift the bales coming down hard, impaling him. He was dead by the time Greg got to him.

                After the funeral, Greg locked himself in his bedroom, refusing to come out. He felt responsible for Jeffrey’s death, even though his parents assured him it was an accident. Finally his dad took the door off its hinges, and forced Greg to come out. Greg knew as he got older that his dad didn’t do it as punishment or to be mean, but because that was the only way he knew to get Greg to leave his room.

                Eventually Greg learned to cope with his grief, he never forgot his brother or what happened and even as an adult, felt a part of himself was missing, but learned to move on.

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“So what do you want us to do?” Donovan was still not convinced that Lestrade hadn’t resigned, but she was starting to understand Sherlock’s point. Lestrade wouldn’t quit without telling anyone.

                “Has anyone been by his flat? Checked if he was there?” Sherlock asked.

                “I stopped by after I learned about the letter, but he didn’t answer the door. I’d assumed he didn’t want to talk to anyone.” Donovan told him.

                “Well that’s the first thing. We need to go to his flat, look for anything that might lead us to what happened. “Sherlock turned toward John, “You stay here and look over Lestrade’s cases. See if some of the other officers can help.”

                Sherlock headed for the door with Donovan on his heels, there was no way she was letting him in Lestrade’s flat alone.

                It took less the 15 minutes to get to Lestrade’s flat, on the 3rd floor of newer brick building. Donovan knocked, called out, got no answer. She tried the door, it was locked.

                “Now what? I can’t just break down his door,” She turned to Sherlock, who was already pulling a key out of his pocket which he inserted in the lock. “Why do you have a key for Lestrade’s flat?”

                “Had a copy made awhile back, thought it may be useful.” Sherlock pushed the door open.

                They entered the flat, nothing looked out of place. There was no sign of struggle or anything to suggest he had been taken out by force. Sherlock flipped through the post that was sitting on the table by the door, nothing but adverts and bills. There was a stack of case files on the coffee table. Why would Lestrade keep case files in his flat if he was planning to resign?

                A man looked in the door of the flat, he was heavyset, balding, had sweat stains on his short-sleeve shirt, even though it wasn’t that warm out.

                “What are you doing? You can’t be in here.” He told them.

Donovan walked out of the kitchen and held up her badge.

“I’m Sgt. Sally Donovan, Inspector Lestrade is a colleague. And you are…..?”

“I’m James Lawson, the building manager. Is there something I can help you with?”

“Have you spoken to the inspector recently?”

“No. He left a letter in my office about 2 weeks ago, said he would be out of town for a family emergency, didn’t know when he would return but may be awhile, left a check for rent for the next 4 months.”

“Did you speak to him, or just find the letter?” Sherlock asked.

“Just the letter; but I’m not in the office much, usually in one of the other flats making repairs or down in the basement. Bloody boiler’s gonna be the death of me” He grinned at the last part, it faded quickly however when he saw the look on Donovan and Sherlock’s faces.

“Do you still have the letter?” Sherlock asked.

“I think so. It’s probably in the office.”

“Would you fetch it for me? Please?” Sherlock sounded almost condescending when he said please.

“Yeah, alright,” Lawson nodded and hurried out of the flat.

“There’s no way Lestrade could afford to pay his rent that far in advance. “ Sherlock commented after Lawson left the room.

“Looks like you were right,” Donovan looked at Sherlock. “Someone is going to a lot of trouble to make sure no one knows Lestrade is missing.”

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Several months after Jeffrey’s funeral, Greg’s dad took him to London for the first time. He had gotten tickets to an Arsenal match, thought it might cheer Greg up.

Greg remembered walking down the streets in London in total awe. He had never been to a big city before; it really was how it looked on television. They walked past a huge glass walled building, looked like it reached all the way into the clouds.

“What’s that?” He asked his dad, pointing at the building, looking up in awe.

“That’s Scotland Yard. It’s the headquarters for the Metropolitan Police here in London,” His dad told him.

Greg looked up in awe. It looked just like it did on the television screen. As they grew closer, he could see people walking around outside, some in the uniforms he had seen on his father’s favorite program.

“I want to work there when I grow up,” Greg said excitedly. “Have an office all the way on the top floor. It would be like I was flying,” Greg spread his arms out and ran in a circle, emulating an airplane.

“It’s a lot of work, only the Detective Inspectors and the Detective Chief Inspector are on the top floors,” His dad informed him.

“Then that’s what I’m going to be, a Detective Inspector,” Greg announced.

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John and 3 other officers where in a conference room, the files from all the cases Lestrade had worked going back 5 years were spread across the table sorted into 4 separate stacks. One was for possible suspects, suspects that were dead, suspects in prison and suspects that were unlikely. As they added to the pile for possible suspects, one of the officers wrote the name of the person down, along with what they had been charged with on a dry erase board.

John looked at the stack of suspects as it grew higher and higher. He shook his head; there was no way they could get through all of these in time. If Sherlock was right, and Lestrade had been abducted more than 2 weeks ago, they probably didn’t have much time left, and that was if Lestrade was even still alive.

John looked down at the file in his hands, a doctor who had been investigated for the suspicious death of a patient. John read the doctor’s statements to the police, and though he appeared arrogant and had an ego, no charges were filed. John started to put it in the unlikely suspects pile, but stopped when he read that as a result of the investigation, he had been terminated from his position and had his medical licence revoked. John hesitated, put it in the suspect pile, told the officer writing the names down to add Dr. Nicholas Scott to the list.

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Lestrade was pulled out of his thoughts by something moving his leg. He didn’t know what it was exactly, but it felt like a hand, lifting his leg, feeling along the calf. It was at that point Lestrade realized he didn’t seem to have any clothes on except his knickers. He felt his leg being lowered back down, then the other one was raised, again a hand felt along his calf before it was lowered. The same thing happened with his arms.

A few minutes later he felt a tug on his stomach, felt something wet and cold going into to it. A feeding tube? Why would someone drug him, keep him in the dark, but put in a feeding tube?

Lestrade didn’t have much time to think about it though; something, a hand maybe, struck across his cheek, hard. His head was forced to the side, he could feel the sting on his cheek, his eyes were watering. He tried to recoil, but he couldn’t move. He was completely at the mercy of whoever was in the room with him; he didn’t even know who that was.

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Lawson had brought the letter to Sherlock and Donovan. Sherlock read it over several times, same as he had the resignation letter. This one was written in the same manner, using terms he knew the inspector wouldn’t use.

Sherlock began going through the case files Lestrade had on his coffee table. Most of them were cold cases that the inspector hadn’t been able to solve. Donovan had found Lestrade’s laptop, was going through it hoping to find something. It appeared part of the hard drive had been wiped, along with the internet history. She called Anderson; asked him to come over, see if he could recover anything. Sherlock groaned and rolled his eyes when Donovan informed him Anderson was on his way over.

“We need help with the computer. Part of the hard drive has been wiped, and the browser history erased. We need to find out what was on it. If the person that took Lestrade also wiped the files, then we need to know what they were.” Donovan argued.

Reluctantly, Sherlock agreed. He didn’t want Anderson’s help, mostly because he didn’t like him, but they needed to know what was had been deleted from the computer.

Anderson arrived within 15 minutes, immediately setting to work on the computer. It took him over 2 hours, but he finally managed to recover some of the lost data from the laptop. He slowly poured over each file, carefully reviewed the internet history. Most were online bill pay sites, but it did appear that Lestrade had signed up for an online dating service recently.

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Lestrade’s cheek still stung long after the mystery person left. He still had no idea how long he had been there, or why he was there. His mind drifted back to his memories.

When he was 18, his parents fell on hard times; they could no longer afford to keep their farm. Greg was devastated. That farm had been in their family for generations, ever since his great-great grandfather emigrated from France. His parents had decided the farm was becoming too much for them anyway, so they sold the farm and moved to a smaller house in Reading.

After the farm sold, Greg moved to London, still wanting to pursue his childhood dream of becoming an officer with the metropolitan police. It was much harder than he had thought it would be. He took several odd jobs just to pay rent on his tiny bedsit. He became disenchanted after a while, considered moving to Reading with his parents. He never did though. He was determined to become a police officer.

Finally, after living in London for 2 years, he was recruited to join the Met. The training program was tough. He spent 3 difficult years doing on the job training, many times wanting to quit. He kept going though. The day he became a constable was one of the happiest of his life. He called his parents to tell them he had made it. They had never seemed more proud of him.

During his first year as a constable, he met Jennifer. She was the most wonderful woman he had ever met, smart, funny, beautiful. She was a student at University, studying medicine, wanted to be a pediatrician. Greg knew he loved her the moment he laid eyes on her.

They dated for about a year, Greg falling in love with her more and more every day. He knew he wanted to spend the rest of his life with her. They had started talking about marriage, raising a family together. They decided to wait though. Jennifer had another year left in school, wanted to wait until she had finished.

When she finally graduated, they celebrated by going out to dinner at a very expensive restaurant. Neither of them could actually afford it, but thought it was worth the cost. Just before their dessert arrived, Greg did what he had wanted to do since he met her. He dropped to his knee, right next to the table.

“I’ve never been happier than I have since I met you. You bring a joy to my life that I cannot explain. I’ve known since I met you I wanted to spend my entire life with you. Jennifer, will you marry me?” He pulled a small black box out of his jacket pocket; it had taken months for him to save up enough to buy it.

“Yes, Greg,” Jennifer smiled through her tears of joy, “Yes I will marry you.”

He had never felt anything like it when he slid the ring on her finger.

They knew it would still be a while before they did actually get married, it would take some time to raise the money for a wedding. It turned out that they didn’t have that much time.

About 2 weeks after they got engaged, Jennifer started experiencing severe headaches. At first she reasoned it was just due to stress, too little sleep and too much caffeine. The headaches kept getting worse though. There were times when she couldn’t even get out of bed, it hurt so bad. Greg wanted her to see a doctor, to which she would irritably retort that she _was_ a doctor. Then one night after they had both gone to bed, Jennifer woke Greg up in a panic, she couldn’t see out of her left eye. Greg rushed her to A&E.

He waited for what felt like hours, finally one of the nurses called him back, said he could see her. He hurried to her room, anxious to find out what was going on. She was sitting on the hospital bed, tears streaming down her eyes. Greg sat next to her, held her hand while she told him what the doctors had found. A brain tumor, malignant and inoperable; the doctor told her she had about 4 months left.

Greg felt all the air escape his lungs, he couldn’t breathe, the room started to spin. This couldn’t be right. He couldn’t lose her, he loved her too much. She couldn’t leave him.

“We’ll fight it,” He told her resolutely, more for himself than her. “Get a second or third opinion if we have to.”

“There’s no point Greg. It’s inoperable. They can’t take it out. “Jennifer began sobbing. Greg wrapped his arms around her, pulling her towards him. She laid her head on his chest and they both cried.

They never made it to their wedding day. Jennifer died a couple months later, wrapped in Greg’s arms.

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John was still pouring over the files, trying to narrow down the discouragingly large list of suspects when Sherlock returned with Donovan and Anderson. John filled him in on what they had found so far in Lestrade’s case files. Anderson told them what he found on the laptop.

“Why would Lestrade sign up for an online dating site?” Sherlock asked incredulously.

“He’s lonely. He hasn’t been with anyone since his divorce. “John told him. “Not everyone is content with remaining single their entire life.”

“But why wouldn’t he tell me he was dating again?” Sherlock almost sounded like a pouting child.

“Oh, I don’t know Sherlock maybe because you would respond with something like’ I didn’t think a man of your advanced age would consider another relationship. Especially since the last one ended so poorly’,” John mimicked Sherlock’s baritone.

“I would not. Though it has been proven that men of Lestrade’s age have a harder time dating, especially after the devastating way his marriage ended.”

“Yes, that’s much better Sherlock,” John shook his head. Sherlock really had no idea about relationships sometimes.

“Can we please focus on finding him?” Donovan asked impatiently. She got annoyed with John and Sherlock’s bickering on a normal day. With the added stress of Lestrade’s disappearance, she found it almost infuriating.

“Right,” John said turning back to the files. “There’s something about this one. I can’t place it though.” John picked up the file on Nicholas Scott.

“I remember him; it was about 2 years ago. Arrogant arsehole really; one of his patients died under suspicious circumstances. Patient’s family notified the police. Lestrade led the investigation. We couldn’t find enough evidence to convict him though. Why do you think it’s him?” Donovan questioned. Out of all of the potential suspects, Scott seemed unlikely.

“I don’t know for sure; just something about an arrogant doctor with what appears to be God-complex. “John shrugged. He thought it was unlikely too, but he couldn’t shake the feeling something was _off._

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Over time Lestrade determined that there were at least 2 people holding him. The one that hit him he determined was male, but there was another one that was much gentler, probably female. Stacy? The man came in several times, Lestrade gave up trying to figure out exactly how frequently, but the same thing happened every time, he examined Lestrade’s legs and arms, sometimes feeling his stomach, occasionally putting something in the feeding tube, then slapped Lestrade, hard.

Whenever the female came in, she was much kinder, moving him onto his side, or sitting him up for a few minutes. She would stroke his cheek or run her fingers through his hair. Lestrade had become resigned to the fact that he was probably going to die here, so her visits, though less frequent than the male’s, became something he looked forward to.

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It had been almost 3 days since they realized Lestrade was missing. Every file, every suspect was carefully examined. Sherlock was growing frustrated. He knew they were running out of time if they wanted to find Lestrade alive.

On the third day they finally got the information from the dating site Lestrade had signed on with. Since Anderson had to recover the history after it had been deleted he had no way of knowing if Lestrade had been in contact with anyone.

They discovered that Lestrade had been in communication with someone called footballergirl, her real name was Stacy Williams. Sherlock opened her profile, a strikingly beautiful brunette, was a supporter of Arsenal, from Reading; as Sherlock and John read more of her profile, John realized she was fundamentally Lestrade’s idea of a perfect woman.

“This profile is a fake,” Sherlock announced just before John had the chance to say the same.

“How can you be sure?” Anderson asked suspiciously.

“The user name for one, “footballergirl,” she’s a supporter of Arsenal who is from Reading. “ Sherlock sighed.

“So? Arsenal has loads of supporters. Doesn’t mean her profile’s not real.” Anderson wasn’t getting it.

“Look, Lestrade has been an Arsenal supporter since he was a child, he’s also from Greenham not that far from Reading, which is where his parents moved to just before Lestrade moved to London. “ Sherlock explained. “We need to find this Stacy Williams. She probably holds the key to where Lestrade is.”

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After Jennifer died, Greg was overcome with grief. His parents wanted him to move to Reading, to be closer to them, but he couldn’t. Instead he pushed himself harder at the Met, decided to take the Sergeant’s exam, completely absorbing himself in preparations, studying nonstop, until the day of the test. He passed with flying colors. He had made sergeant, was one step closer to his dream of becoming a detective inspector.

With his promotion to sergeant, he also received his first notable raise in pay. He finally moved out of the tiny flat he had into a decent sized one bedroom. He knew, even though he no longer had Jennifer in his life, it was getting better.

One day, about 3 years after his promotion he decided to stop at a sandwich shop on his way home, when he walked in the door he stopped dead in his tracks. The woman in front of him looked exactly like Jennifer. For a moment, he thought it might actually be her, he had to remind himself that it couldn’t be, Jennifer was dead. The woman smiled at him as she walked out, Greg offered a polite smile back.

He found himself frequenting that sandwich shop more and more. He kept telling himself it was because he liked the food, but he knew deep down it was because he was hoping to see her again. He did too, several times; though it took a while for him to get the courage to talk to her. Finally, after he had solved his first difficult case and was already feeling on a high, he decided to approach her.

“I’m Greg,” He said, hoping he didn’t sound too awkward.

“Jerica,” the woman told him, extending her hand.

“Look, I know this may sound odd, since we don’t really know each other, but would you like to have dinner sometime?” Greg felt butterflies in his stomach for the first time since he had started dating Jennifer.

She seemed surprised by Greg’s forwardness, but after thinking it over for a couple of minutes said, “Sure, why not.”

“Great, how about this Friday, 7pm? I know nice a little Italian restaurant,” Greg almost felt like he was a teenager again.

“Sounds good,” they exchanged phone numbers and decided to meet at the restaurant Greg knew, and said their goodbyes.

That Friday, Greg was more nervous than he had been in years, he wasn’t even this nervous when he took his sergeant’s exam. Of course word got around the Met earlier in the week that he had a date, his colleagues playfully teasing him about it. He didn’t care though. He had finally met someone.

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It didn’t take long for Sherlock or the others to discover that Stacy Williams didn’t actually exist. They got copies of Lestrade’s phone records, most of the numbers he called were either to one of them, the Met, or several takeaway places nearby. So it wasn’t hard for Sherlock to conclude which number was hers. No luck though, it was a pre-paid cell phone, no name was registered.

Something was bothering Sherlock though, there was something about Stacy Williams that seemed familiar, but he couldn’t place it. Finally, he told the others he was going outside for some air, when he got outside, he hailed a cab to Lestrade’s flat.

He told the cabbie to wait, he would be right back, he went straight into Lestrade’s bedroom, shoved in a back corner was a small shoebox; Sherlock grabbed it and went back out the waiting cab.

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“I knew there was something else off about Stacy Williams,” Sherlock said placing the shoebox on the table in the conference room. “This is from Lestrade’s flat. I hadn’t seen it in so long, almost forgot it was there.”

Sherlock removed the lid and emptied the contents onto the table. It was mostly photographs, ticket stubs and other sentimental items, including a small diamond ring.

John picked up one of the photographs, a much younger Lestrade, smiling and laughing, with a beautiful dark-haired woman on his back, piggyback style. John’s mouth fell open when he saw it, “This woman, she looks almost exactly like Stacy Williams.”

Sherlock glanced at the picture, “It’s not her. The woman in that picture is Jennifer, Lestrade’s first love and fiancée.”

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Greg and Jerica hit it off almost immediately. She was a primary school teacher who taught Year 6. He knew he liked her, but he couldn’t shake the feeling it was because of how much she resembled Jennifer. Over time though, he convinced himself that he really did like Jerica for who she was, in fact he loved her. After they had dated for over a year and a half, they decided to move in together.

Things were looking up for Greg. He and Jerica were doing well, had started talking about a family, and Greg was about to be promoted to Detective Inspector.

Greg and Jerica were married about a year after his promotion. They moved to a larger flat in London and decided to start a family. They tried for about two years, eventually seeking fertility treatments, nothing worked, then they got the news Jerica was infertile. They could never have children of their own.

They looked into every option they could, from surrogates to adoptions, but it didn’t work. They couldn’t afford an adoption, and Jerica wouldn’t agree to a surrogate. They finally resigned themselves to the fact that they would never have a child.

Not long after they learned of Jerica’s infertility, Greg got a call that he was needed in Reading, his mother was ailing, not expected to live much longer. He was on the next train.

He arrived at the hospital early in the morning. His dad met him in the waiting area outside her room.

“What happened, Dad?” Greg asked. The last time he had spoken to them, she seemed fine.

“Doctor says it’s pneumonia. She’s had trouble with her heart for a while, was diagnosed with congestive heart failure a few months ago. It’s not looking good, Greg.” His father closed his eyes and shook his head, he was trying not to cry, didn’t want to show weakness in front of his son.

“Dad, why didn’t you tell me?” Greg was shocked his parents didn’t tell him about his mother’s heart condition.

“We didn’t want you to worry unnecessarily. You have a lot going on in your life, didn’t want to burden you with this.” His dad shrugged.

“This isn’t a burden Dad, she’s my mum. If I had known I could have spent more time here, maybe transfer to the Reading police.”

“That’s exactly why we didn’t tell you. Greg, you worked so hard to get to where you are, a detective inspector with Scotland Yard. We didn’t want you to throw it all away to move back here. And what about Jerica? You can’t expect her to pack up her life and move. Your mum and I decided it was best to wait to tell you.” His father let out a weary sigh.

“Wait until when? Her funeral? She’s my mother, I had the right to know,” Greg was trying hard not to raise his voice, but he was having trouble.

“And she’s my wife,” His father countered. “She didn’t want to tell you about her heart and I respected her choice. Make no mistake, I love your mother very, very much and if telling you would add more strain to her, then I wasn’t going to do that. “His father’s voice began to rise.

“I wasn’t implying that you don’t love her. I just wish you would have told me,” Greg replied quietly. “Can I see her?”

His father nodded and led Greg into his mother’s room. She looked so small and fragile in the hospital bed, Greg felt himself fighting back tears at the sight of her.

“Mum?” Greg’s voice was barely a whisper. “Mum, it’s Greg.”

His mother’s eyes fluttered open; she smiled when she saw her son. “Greg, you didn’t have to come.”

“Mum, you’re in a hospital, of course I would come. “ Greg reached for her hand, wrapped his fingers around hers. He couldn’t fight the tears any longer, felt them sliding down his cheeks.

“Please don’t cry, Greg. If this is the end for me then I’ve made my peace with it. I’ve had a wonderful life, raised a beautiful intelligent son who is a detective inspector, and I’ll get to see Jeffrey again,” His mother smiled weakly at the thought of her late son.

The tears started falling faster at the mention of Jeffrey. He had already lost both his brother and the love of his life; he didn’t want to lose his mother too.

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“Wait, Jennifer? Lestrade’s ex-wife’s name is Jerica.” John was confused. He knew Lestrade had been with his wife for a long time before they divorced, he didn’t think there was anyone else.

“He and Jennifer were never married,” Sherlock explained.

“Why not?” John wondered out loud.

“Jennifer died from a brain tumor before they had the chance,” Sherlock turned back to the remaining contents of the box.

“So the ring…?” John started.

“He’d given to Jennifer when they got engaged. He couldn’t afford anything bigger at the time. “

Sherlock was looking through the other pictures in the box, looking for any clue that might lead them to where Lestrade was. He found a picture of two young boys, neither of them could have been older than 11 or 12. Sherlock looked at the back of it, looking for anything information about the two boys in the photograph.

“Who are they? Lestrade doesn’t have any children,” Anderson peered over Sherlock’s shoulder at the picture.

“Of course they’re not his kids. It’s an older picture, starting to fade; the boys in this photo would be adults by now. “

“So who are they?” Anderson still didn’t get it.

“It’s Lestrade and his brother,” Sherlock said simply.

“Lestrade doesn’t have any brothers,” Anderson scoffed.

“Not anymore, his brother died when they were kids. “Sherlock laid the photograph back on the table. John picked it up and shook his head. He had no idea how much loss Lestrade had faced in his own life.

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Lestrade knew something was wrong. He could feel his body growing weaker, even with whatever was being put into the feeding tube; which Lestrade had realized some time ago wasn’t actually there to help him, only to prolong his suffering. His lips were impossibly dry and sore. He couldn’t move them, but he could feel them beginning to hurt.

His male captor seemed to be coming in less frequently than in the beginning. He still did at regular intervals, just not as often. He still felt Lestrade’s limbs and stomach, and put something in the feeding tube. He had changed from slapping Lestrade’s face though. Now he was also punching him the stomach occasionally. The first time it happened, it knocked the breath out of Lestrade, he couldn’t breathe, thought he would die then from asphyxiation. He wanted to curl into himself until the pain stopped but he couldn’t. That was the worst part of the whole ordeal. He could handle being in the dark, even the occasional beatings, but it was the complete paralysis, not being able to move, he hated that. He hated not being able to defend himself. He was completely vulnerable to whatever the person holding him wanted to do to him.

Over time, Stacy came in more frequently. She was still sitting him up, at least for a few moments, started massaging his back when she did. He felt her moving something wet and cold across his drying lips occasionally. He thought it was ice cubes, but wasn’t sure. Whatever it was, it felt good, at least giving him a temporary reprieve. After some time, she started putting something in the feeding tube as well. Was she trying to help him?

Lestrade knew he was beginning to lose consciousness more often. It wasn’t just sleep, he was actually passing out. He began drifting in and out of consciousness so much, he was beginning to lose track of how often his captors came in. All he had were his memories to keep him lucid.

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Greg’s mother died the next morning. Both he and his father were at her side when she drew her final breath. He kept telling himself he had to remain strong, he couldn’t cry for his father’s sake. He knew his father would need him and he needed to be strong.

After his mother passed, Greg went back to his parent’s house; he needed a shower and change of clothes. His father stayed at the hospital, needing to finish paperwork and begin funeral arrangements. When he entered the house, he was overcome with emotion. Memories of his mother were everywhere. The apron she always wore when she cooked, the reading glasses she didn’t want anyone to know she wore were on the kitchen counter. He entered the sitting room, first thing he saw was the picture from his wedding day, he and Jerica smiling, his parents next them, beaming with happiness. Greg sank into the sofa, one he had curled up on since he was small, crawling into his mother’s warm, loving embrace. He began to sob harder than he ever had. He couldn’t believe his mother was gone. Eventually he dragged himself off the sofa and made it into the bathroom to take a shower.

He was just getting out, drying himself off, when the phone rang, it was the hospital, something had happened and he needed to return immediately. He quickly got dressed and rushed back to the hospital. One of the nurses greeted him as soon as he got off the elevator.

“Mr. Lestrade?” She asked. He nodded turning to her.

“What’s going on? Where is my father? He was supposed to be finishing the paperwork.” Greg could feel himself beginning to panic.

“I’m very sorry, sir. Your father asked for a few minutes to say goodbye, we waited for about 20 minutes, when he didn’t come out, one of the other nurses went to check on him. I’m very sorry,” The nurse trailed off, not wanting to tell Greg what had happened.

“Sorry for what? Where is he?” Greg could feel a lump rising in his throat, he knew before the nurse told him. His father had died next to his mother. Both his parents were gone.

Everything became a blur after that. He couldn’t breathe, the room was spinning. He felt the nurse guide him backwards, sit him down in one of the plastic chairs. Someone was talking to him, telling him to breathe. He felt someone wrap their hand around his wrist, checking his pulse, he thought distantly. He couldn’t concentrate on anything, everything was spinning. He felt something prick his arm, just as something was placed over his face. Everything went dark after that.

He woke up lying in a hospital bed, Jerica was at his side; he could tell she had been crying. He tried to sit up, but she placed her hand on his chest.

“Just relax Greg. You went into shock, the doctors sedated you, but you need to take it easy.”

“How long have I been asleep?” He asked. His voice was hoarse, barely more than a whisper; his throat and mouth were impossibly dry. Jerica poured him some water from the decanter by the bed, gently guiding the straw between his lips, the cold water felt like heaven.

“Several hours,” She told him. “I came straight from the train station. The nurses told me what happened when I got here. Oh, Greg, I’m so sorry,” She grasped his hand in both of hers, tears streaming down her cheeks.

He tried to think of something to say, but couldn’t. He had just lost both of his parents. The reality hadn’t sunk in yet. He had just talked to his father, he couldn’t be gone too. Greg started to think maybe it was a mistake, his father couldn’t be dead, he couldn’t. His mother was already gone, not his father too. The monitor next to him started going off, his heart rate was going up the more he thought about it.

“Greg, calm down,” Jerica told him, rubbing his chest. “Just take a deep breath and relax.”

Several nurses came rushing in at the sound of Greg’s monitor. There were tears in the corners of his eyes, he was suddenly nauseous. One of the nurses managed to get a bin under him just in time, he started retching violently. His stomach heaved, his head was spinning. It continued for what seemed like ages, finally slowing, until it was nothing but painful dry heaves. He slowly became aware of his surroundings again, the nurses fussing with his monitor and IV, one of them gently taking the bin out from under him, Jerica at his side, massaging his back. When he looked at her, he could see the concern in her eyes.

“It’s okay Greg, just breathe. It’s alright.” She was whispering reassuringly.

Eventually, he relaxed enough to lie back down, his stomach aching from convulsing. The nurses gave him something to help him relax and ease his discomfort before departing. He curled onto his side, hoping to ease the pain. Jerica climbed in behind him, wrapping her arms around him, gently rubbing his stomach. As he drifted off to sleep again, he thought how lucky he was to have her in his life.

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It had been more than a week since the discovery that Lestrade was missing, meaning whoever had him now had him for over 3 weeks. They were quickly running out of time.

Sherlock had been through every file, the call log from his mobile, home and office phones. He and Donovan returned to Lestrade’s flat, this time with a crime scene unit, they searched everything, every room, closet and cupboard. They went through his post, the bills stacked neatly on his desk. There was nothing. No clue as to what could have happened to him. Sherlock didn’t want to admit it, but not only was he becoming nervous, he was scared. Scared that something terrible had happened to Lestrade and he hadn’t been there to stop it.

John kept going back to the file on Nicholas Scott; there was just something about the man that wasn’t sitting right. He called an old friend and got as much background as he could on the doctor. His friend e-mailed him everything he could. John was going over it, suddenly becoming excited, calling Sherlock and Donovan over.

“Nicholas Scott, I know you don’t think he’s a likely suspect, but I knew something wasn’t right. I called in a couple favors to get some background on him. Take a look at this,” John pulled up a photo attachment on his computer, a young dark-haired woman was smiling at the camera. “He has a sister, Michelle. I know it may be a longshot, but with some cosmetic surgery, she could be…”

“Stacy Williams.” Sherlock finished for him.

“We interviewed her during the investigation,” Donovan said, reaching for the file. “She idolizes her brother. Would do anything for him, our psychologist said she has a Dependent Personality disorder. Relies on her brother for everything.”

“So she would be willing to aid him in abducting an inspector from Scotland Yard?” Sherlock snapped his attention to the case file. He read it quickly, spent some time analyzing the statements Scott had made to the police. “He’s an antisocial narcissist with grandiose delusions.” Sherlock stated after he finished with the file.

“Making him a dominant personality, while his sister is a submissive,” John added.

“We need everything we can get on Scott. Financials, phone records, any property he may own, everything,” Donovan ordered the officers in the room. She started directing each one, assigning them specific tasks to find everything they could on Scott. She wished she had listened to John sooner, he had been saying all along he thought it was Scott. She didn’t think it likely because he was never charged. Now her boss may be dead because of that. A silent tear slid down her cheek.

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Greg took time off from the Met to attend to his parents affairs. He stayed in Reading for a while. Cleaning and packing up their house, he kept some things for sentimental value, but most was donated to charity. Jerica stayed for a while, but eventually had to return to London because of her job.

After he got the house cleaned and sorted, he put it on the market. It was an agonizing decision to sell his parents’ home, but he had to. He still had to pay for the funerals, plus neither he nor Jerica wanted to move to Reading if his parents weren’t there.

He returned to London a few weeks later, diving into his work so he wouldn’t think about his parents. He spent more time in his office than he ever had. He told himself it was so he wouldn’t think about losing his parents, but there was also trouble in his marriage. He didn’t know what exactly, but something was wrong. He and Jerica had been fine when he got back to London, she was thrilled to see him, but over the next few months, she became more and more distant. He tried to talk to her about, find out what was going on, but she always brushed it off, saying it was nothing.

Greg was in his office about a year after his parents passed, he had arrested a young man for drug possession, cocaine. The kid was an arrogant snarky pain that Greg wanted out of his office quickly. He began filling out the report, when he looked up, the kid was going through his case files that had been on his desk.

“Hey, those are confidential. You can’t look at those,” Greg reached for the files; the kid tossed them back with a rude gesture towards him. “Name?” He sighed.

“Sherlock Holmes,” The kid said in a tone that suggested he was shopping for shoes rather than being booked on a drugs charge. “This is so boring.”

“Sorry the police department isn’t more entertaining for you. Maybe you will remember that before you decide to get high again.”

“I told you, it was an experiment.” The kid, Sherlock, protested.

“What kind of experiment requires a person to inject cocaine in his system?” Greg demanded. It wasn’t very often that a suspect got to him, but this kid was almost a pro.

“What kind of Detective Inspector doesn’t know his own wife is cheating on him?” Sherlock countered.

“You’re making that up. You don’t want to be here, and think if you can rile me enough I’ll let you go. Try again, and you’re not going anywhere.” Greg had had just about enough of this kid’s attitude. Besides, Jerica wasn’t cheating on him, she loved him.

Greg finished his report and motioned for one of the other officers to take the kid to a holding cell. The kid stood up reluctantly, rolled his eyes. He started to follow the officer when he turned back to Greg.

“Nanny, gardener, employer.” He said pointing to each file that Greg had taken from him. Now Greg rolled his eyes and motioned for the officer to take the kid. He shook his head while they walked away. Greg picked up one of the files Sherlock had pointed to. He began looking through, re-reading statements and realized the kid was right. He looked at the other two files; he was right on those too. Greg was astounded. He had never seen anyone, especially not a drug addict with no police training, solve a case that quickly, let alone 3.

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Lestrade was drifting more and more out of consciousness, he knew something was wrong, other than the paralysis and what he suspected was dehydration and muscle atrophy. He was beginning to feel like he had a fever, was getting chills. Of course, he still had nothing on but his knickers and there was nothing covering him. That didn’t seem to be it though. His stomach felt sore where the feeding tube had gone in, he began to realize it was becoming infected.

Stacy seemed to notice too. She was much gentler with him, placing what felt like a cool cloth on his forehead at times. There were also times when he felt her moving him, rubbing a warm damp cloth over his skin, bathing him. He felt her tug at the feeding tube, wasn’t putting anything into it, but felt it sting, trying to disinfect it.

He couldn’t figure out why she was doing this. She had helped kidnap him, put him in this hellacious situation, and was now trying to help him. Why? Why go through the trouble of setting up an online dating account, meeting him, kidnapping him, but then try to help him? It didn’t make sense. He knew his fever was making it difficult to think straight, but that just didn’t seem right. By now he knew this was where he would die, he just hoped he figured it out before he did.

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“Sherlock, what’s going on?” Molly was standing in the doorway of the conference room. She looked flushed, out of breath, like she had just run from the parking garage; which she probably had. “I heard one of the officers say something happened to Lestrade. What is it? Is he ok?” Sherlock could see the fear in her eyes as she spoke.

“Lestrade’s gone missing. We don’t know what’s happened to him.” Sherlock didn’t look up as he said it. He had gotten Scott financials and was reading over them carefully, not wanting to miss anything.

“What do you mean missing? I heard he resigned.” Molly’s eyes were wide with terror at the thought of something happening to the inspector.

“He didn’t resign. We believe he’s been abducted,” Sherlock informed her.

“Abducted? By who?”

“By this man,” Sherlock showed her the driver’s licence photo they had of Scott. “Dr. Nicholas Scott.”

“He had a patient die under odd circumstances; family thought it was negligence, notified police, right? I remember that. I did the post mortem, about 2 years ago. Patient had gone in for heart surgery, he didn’t suture the valve properly, she bled out. “Molly told him.

“So why was he never charged? If you could tell it was negligence, why not charge him?” John asked, looking up from the table.

“Too circumstantial; the victim had a bad valve, couldn’t prove it was because of Scott’s actions. Defence would claim she bled out due to the valve as a pre-existing condition.” Donovan advised them.

“No, but it was enough to have him reviewed by the Medical Board,” John said. “They terminated his employment and revoked his licence to practice.”

“Which he apparently blames Lestrade for, since he’s the one who led the investigation.” Sherlock added.

“So now he’s exacting revenge?” Molly asked.

“Pretty much, only hope that Lestrade is still alive,” Sherlock said grimly.

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Greg tried to forget what the kid, Sherlock, had said about his wife. He was just trying to get under Greg’s skin. But he had been right about those 3 cases though. What if he was right about this too? Was Jerica cheating on him? Was that why she was becoming so distant? Didn’t she still love him?

He decided to put it out of his mind, not think about it anymore. Besides, he had work to do. The criminals in London never stop, so neither could he.

A little over a month since he met Sherlock, he got a phone call; he was needed at the hospital. Sherlock had overdosed. He wouldn’t let anyone near him, and was insisting on seeing Greg. He shook his head; this kid was going to be a bigger pain than he thought.

When Greg got to the hospital, he was met by a man who was several years older than Sherlock, but not quite as old as Greg. He wore an impeccable gray suit and had an umbrella in his hand, though it hadn’t rained in weeks.

“Mycroft Holmes,” He extended his hand to Greg.

“Detective Inspector Lestrade,” Greg shook hands with him, noticed he had a rather firm handshake, probably did it frequently. “What can I help you with, Mr. Holmes?”

“It appears you have already met my younger brother, Sherlock,” Mycroft started.

“Yes, I had that pleasure not too long ago,” Greg tried to keep the sarcasm out of his voice but didn’t think he was successful.

“My brother has done nothing but talk about you since then,” Mycroft made what Greg thought was supposed to be a smile, but it didn’t quite work.

“Glad I made an impression,” Greg said tensely. “Must not have been too much of one though.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure of that Inspector. My brother tends to get very bored very quickly. He has the mind of a genius but doesn’t know how to use it properly.”

“So he gets high instead?”

“He claims it’s a distraction.”

“Isn’t there something better to distract him with?”

“Well that’s why I’m here, Inspector. I’m hoping we can work out an arrangement.”

“What kind of arrangement?” Greg was growing suspicious of this man that claimed to be Sherlock’s brother.

“Let him help you on some of your cases, and I will do what I can to ensure he remains clean,” The man, Mycroft (who the hell named these two?) proposed. “In fact, I would be willing to offer you a great deal of money if you agreed.”

“I don’t want your damn money. I can’t have some drug addict kid tagging along on my cases. Sorry, no deal.” Greg turned to leave.

“Really? I would think a man in your situation would be more willing accept an offer like that.”

“And what kind of situation is a man like me in, exactly?” Greg was getting angry now. How dare this person try to bribe him just to keep his brother from getting high.

“I understand you and your wife, ah Jessica, is it?”

“Jerica,” Greg had had about enough from this person.

“Yes, Jerica. The two of you have been unsuccessful in starting a family, can’t afford an adoption?”

Greg turned and glared at Mycroft. “How the hell did you find that out? And my personal life is my own, thank you. It was nice meeting you Mr. Holmes, but I’ll be on my way now. “He started walking back towards the lift.

“I would surely hate to see a man like you lose his position with Scotland Yard,” Mycroft called after him.

“Sorry?” Greg stopped and turned sharply to face Mycroft.

“I have some very powerful friends, I was hoping it wouldn’t come to this; however, unless you allow Sherlock to help you and you keep me informed of his actions, you may not find yourself as a Detective Inspector,” Mycroft had an almost menacing tone in his voice.

“And what would I be then?” Greg almost spat out the words.

“I hear there’s an open position for a cleaner,” Mycroft said with just a hint of threat in his voice.

Greg had enough. He had just met this person who was threatening to take his job away unless he babysits some junkie. Before he could stop himself, Greg swung his fist back, making direct contact with Mycroft’s nose. Blood started pouring out of it. Mycroft pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and held it to his nose. One of the nurses noticed, came rushing over. Mycroft waved her off.

“It’s alright. The inspector here is just a little emotional, that’s all.” Mycroft explained.

The nurse threw a suspicious look at Greg before walking away.

“I don’t take kindly to being threatened Mr. Holmes,” Greg’s voice was almost as menacing as Mycroft’s.

“Well, accept my offer and we can pretend none of this happened.”

“I guess I don’t have a choice. He has to be clean first. I can’t have him showing up to crime scenes high.”

“Of course. I have arranged for his placement in a drug treatment program, once he has been released I will be contacting you.” With that, Mycroft turned and walked away, leaving Greg standing in the hallway, still seething with anger.

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“Donovan? What’s going on?” DCI Woods entered the conference room looking confused. “I’ve been away at a conference, just returned. Something has happened to Lestrade?”

“Yes sir. We believe his resignation letter was fake, that someone has abducted him.” Donovan told him.

“Are you sure? I received that letter quite some time ago, how long do you think this person has had him?” Woods voice was edged with concern.

“If he was taken around the time you received that letter, then over 3 weeks.” Donovan said despairingly. Both she and Woods knew that after that much time had passed, their chances of finding Lestrade alive were almost hopeless.

“Do you have a suspect?” He asked

“We do sir. This man, Dr. Nicholas Scott.” Donovan showed his picture to Woods. “He was investigated about 2 years ago for the suspicious death of a patient. No charges were filed, but he lost his job and his medical licence. Lestrade led the investigation, we believe he blames Lestrade for ruining his life and is exacting revenge.”

“What do you need? I’ll authorize anything in the department I can. “He offered.

“We need a warrant search Scott’s flat. “Donovan told him.

Woods had his mobile out immediately, having warrants issued as quickly as possible.

“Also need access to CCTV footage, see if there’s anything there.” Sherlock looked up from the file he was reading.

“It will be difficult to get the footage from almost a month ago; do you know where to look?” Woods asked him.

“We can start with anything close to Lestrade’s flat. At least see what direction he was heading the last time he left his flat.”

Woods started to pull his mobile out again, but was stopped by a voice behind him.

“That won’t be necessary, DCI Woods. I can get you copies of the CCTV cameras a lot faster.” Mycroft Holmes informed him.

“What are our chances?” Mycroft looked first to Donovan and then Sherlock, who just shook his head.

“It’s not looking good Mr. Holmes.” Donovan had tears forming in her eyes.

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Mycroft kept his word, contacting Greg about 2 months after their meeting at the hospital. Sherlock made it clear from the start that he only wanted to help on cases that interested him. Greg agreed, calling on Sherlock whenever he had a difficult case. It worked well in the beginning; Sherlock had an eye for details and observation that was almost uncanny. Together, they solved many difficult cases, raising Greg’s clearance rate dramatically.

The biggest problem working with Sherlock was that he seemed to have no sense of boundaries; showing up at Greg’s flat at all hours; interrupting him with his wife, during dinner, even when they were making love. Jerica tried to tolerate him for her husband’s sake, but grew weary of his constantly showing up unannounced to the point where they argued about it.

Eventually Greg worked out an agreement with Sherlock. He was only allowed to see Greg at his office and could call him if it was important enough. Sherlock was not, however, allowed in Greg’s flat. Greg was actually surprised when Sherlock agreed, and even obeyed the rules Greg had set.

One night after leaving the Yard late, he had to take a call from Mycroft to give his report on Sherlock; Greg arrived home to discover his wife waiting for him. They needed to talk. It turned out Sherlock had been right from the start, Jerica had been cheating on him with a fellow teacher, it had been going on for over two years, but she finally broke it off.

Greg was furious and heartbroken at the same time. How could she do this to him? He loved her so much, and she was sleeping with another man.

“I’m sorry Greg,” She sobbed. “I love you, I do. I just feel like you don’t always love me.”

“What do you mean, I don’t always love you? Of course I love you. You’re my wife. The woman I want to be with for the rest of my life.”

“No, Greg. You love Jennifer, you always have. I’m just a stand in for her. I can’t do it anymore. I can’t compete with a ghost. “With that she picked up a suitcase by the sofa. “I’m going to stay with my sister for a while, until we can get this sorted.” She walked over to Greg, brushed her lips against his, “I do love you,” she wiped the tears from her cheeks and walked out the door before Greg could tell her he loved her too.

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After several hours and phone calls, Woods finally got the warrants for Scott’s flat. Mycroft had been busy getting the CCTV footage from around the time Lestrade disappeared.

Donovan and Sherlock went with a forensic team to Scott’s flat, a penthouse in Kensington. The building manager let them into the penthouse after reviewing the warrant. He told them he hadn’t seen Scott in several weeks and that his sister lived with him, though he hadn’t seen her recently either.

They immediately set to work, searching every inch of the penthouse. After about 20 minutes, Anderson called them back to Scott’s study. One wall was covered with pictures of Lestrade, newspaper clippings about his cases going back several years.

“This man was obsessed with Lestrade,” Donovan noted. There was a list of everything Lestrade liked, from his favorite football club to his favorite restaurant. There were also pictures of Jennifer when she and Lestrade were dating.

“He was determined to learn everything he could about Lestrade, just so he could abduct him. “ Sherlock studied every picture and clipping that was on the wall. There was nothing there that told them where he could have taken Lestrade though.

They spent about 4 hours tearing Scott’s penthouse apart, looking for anything that would lead them to Lestrade, but found nothing. Sherlock almost screamed in anger. He knew they were out of time if they wanted to find Lestrade alive.

Finally, they decided to pack it in, head back to the Met. When they got there, John and Molly were reviewing Scott’s patient files that just came in, and Mycroft was working with a tech crew to set up the CCTV footage that had just arrived.

“Did you find anything at Scott’s?” John asked

when they walked in.

“Scott was obsessed with Lestrade. Had an entire wall in his study covered with information about him. His sister apparently lives there too; however the building manager hadn’t seen either in quite some time.” Sherlock informed him.

“Well, I think I may have found something. According to Lestrade’s credit card statement, the last time he used it was at Giovanni’s.” John handed Sherlock credit card statement.

“Lestrade had met Michelle Scott through an online dating service, Giovanni’s is expensive, so he probably took her there for their first meeting, trying to impress her.” Sherlock concluded. “If we look at the footage from that night, we may be able to find where he went. “

Sherlock told Mycroft about the restaurant, gave him the date on the statement. After about 20 minutes, they found the right video.

“There’s Lestrade entering the restaurant,” Sherlock pointed to the screen. The tech fast-forwarded to when Lestrade was leaving, with a woman.

“There he is with Michelle Scott. Looks like he’s trying to get her a cab, she declined. They started walking; Lestrade seems to be having trouble. First date, wants to impress her, so he’s not drunk, she must have drugged him with something.” Sherlock considered every aspect of the grainy footage. He watched as they turned down an alley and were gone.

“There must have been a car waiting for them in the alley. “ John said, watching the video intently.

“If there was, then it can drive through walls, because nothing comes back out.” The tech told him.

There was something else. Sherlock knew there was something else they were missing.

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After Greg and Jerica separated, Greg again threw himself into his work. He had a feeling Sherlock knew, but didn’t say anything.

Greg was working a rather difficult case, 3 people all appeared to have committed suicide, but they all died from the same poison. Greg knew they were connected, he just couldn’t figure out how to prove it. When the fourth victim was called in, he knew he would need Sherlock’s help. Mycroft had told him that Sherlock had just moved to a flat on Baker St. Greg arrived to ask for Sherlock’s help, noticing there was another man in the flat with him. Sherlock didn’t introduce him and Greg was too preoccupied with the case to ask. The man arrived with Sherlock at the crime scene though. Greg asked who he was, but all Sherlock said was the man was with him. Greg wanted to argue, to insist Sherlock tell him, but he didn’t have much time.

After Sherlock studied the body for a couple minutes, he told Greg the woman was from Cardiff and having an affair. Sherlock started on some rant about a suitcase, though none was found at the scene. Sherlock took off in an excited rush, which Greg soon realized he was looking for the suitcase. The man that came with him, departed soon after, leaving Greg and his team to finish processing the scene.

Greg knew Sherlock would find the victim’s suitcase, he had just hoped the detective would have contacted him when he did. Of course, being Sherlock he didn’t. So Greg staged a drugs bust to get Sherlock to give him the suitcase and any other information he had.

The case was solved later that night, cabbie with a terminal illness, playing a sick game Russian roulette with the victims. Sherlock almost became the fifth victim, but the cabbie was shot before he could take the poison. It didn’t take Greg long to realize that the shooter was the mystery man that had been with Sherlock that night. He didn’t know why, but if Sherlock trusted him, then so did Greg, which was why he never reported it.

Greg learned soon after that the mystery man’s name was Dr. John Watson, a retired army doctor who was Sherlock’s new flat mate. He got to know John over time, the two of them even going out for a pint occasionally. Greg didn’t have a lot of friends, his job tended to get in the way a lot, so he was glad when John came along.

After a while, Greg and Jerica decided to give their marriage another chance. They started going to counseling, trying to work out the problems they had. Jerica moved back into the flat with Greg, they even made plans to go to Dorset to visit her family for Christmas.

On Christmas Eve, Greg went Baker St. for a get-together with John, Sherlock, Mrs. Hudson and Molly Hooper, the cute pathologist that Greg secretly had a crush on. Molly had told Greg she was surprised to see him, thought he would be in Dorset. He told her he was leaving first thing in the morning. He and his wife were back together. He smiled happily when he told her. Then Sherlock dropped the news that Jerica was sleeping with the PE teacher. Greg confronted Jerica when he got home, and she confirmed it. He moved out, got his own flat and filed the divorce papers a few days later. His marriage was over.

He never talked about his divorce, but somehow John seemed to know, started showing up at Greg’s with beer and takeaway. Greg was glad to have John as a friend; he wasn’t quite sure what he would do if not for him. Greg even confided to John his interest in Molly, John encouraged him to ask her out, but Greg knew she only had eyes for Sherlock.

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Lestrade was getting worse. His fever was getting higher, the pain in his stomach more intense. He was barely conscious. As he lay in the dark, he saw a light; it was getting bigger, brighter, hurting his eyes. Standing in the light he saw his beloved Jennifer. The pain in his stomach and the light blinding him no longer mattered. He and Jennifer were finally together again. He was never going to let her leave him again.

She sat down next to him, lifted him into her arms, stroked his silver hair. Nothing mattered anymore. He had Jennifer in his arms again.

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After studying the video feed for more than an hour and mentally going through all of the maps of London in his head he had an idea. He pulled up a map of Bayswater and pointed at the screen.

“That’s it!” He exclaimed. “The train tunnel in Leinster Gardens. There must have been a car waiting on the other side of 23 and 24 Leinster Gardens. There’s a secret tunnel that leads to the Bayswater station. It’s probably large enough to get a single car through it.”

“But how would they get the car back up to the street?” John wondered aloud. “it’s like not they could drive it up the walls.”

“No, no, no. Don’t you see? It connects to the Bayswater station, just outside the car park. That time of night, there’s not much traffic in and out of that station, so all they would to do it drive from the tunnel in Leinster Gardens to Bayswater, coming up just inside the car park. Then just pull out onto the road from there like they were just leaving the station.” Sherlock explained, exasperated. Why couldn’t they see? That was the only possible scenario.

“I don’t know, Sherlock. It sounds pretty far-fetched.” John shook his head.

“Pull up the CCTV footage from the Bayswater Station from that night.” Sherlock instructed the tech.

The tech pulled up the footage from that area around the time Lestrade went missing. John gasped when what looked like a portion of brick wall was moved back and a car pulled out into the car park. Afterward, a man got out and pulled it closed again. Sherlock was right.

“There it is,” He exclaimed, watching the direction of the car. Once it merged into the main traffic though they lost sight of it. Sherlock yelled out in frustration. That was the only clue that could have told them where Lestrade had been taken.

“Excuse me, Mr. Holmes,” a young officer stood in the doorway, holding a phone. “There’s a woman on the phone. Says she knows the location of the inspector.” Sherlock immediately snatched the phone from the young officer, signaling everyone in the room to be quiet.

“This is Sherlock Holmes,” He said into the phone. He could hear a woman crying on the other end.

“Mr. Holmes, please, you have to help him. He’s going to die. “

“Who is this?”

“My brother doesn’t understand what he’s doing. Please Mr. Holmes, you have to help him.” Sherlock could hear the fear in her voice.

“Please, tell us where you are. “

“I can’t. He’ll hurt me, but you have to help him, he’ll die, he’s sick.” She was sobbing.

“We can protect you, but you have to tell us where.” Sherlock pressed.

“No, no. I can’t. Please help.” The line went dead.

Sherlock looked to one of the techs, who nodded. They had been able to trace the call.

 

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The trace led them to an abandoned hospital outside London. With the help of Woods, almost all of Scotland Yard was there within 20 minutes.

They began searching, floor by floor. When they reached what had been the operating theater, they came across a body on the floor.

“Michelle Scott,” John said, feeling for a pulse but not finding one.

“She called the police to help Lestrade, so Scott killed his own sister.” Sherlock looked at the body.

“In here!” An officer called from the theater.

John rushed in with Sherlock right behind him. They found Lestrade, laying on a gurney, only wearing his knickers. His body was trembling from a fever; he was extremely pale, except for the bright red slashes across his stomach where a feeding tube was. John noticed the IV in the back of inspector’s hand. He read the IV bag and gasped, Flaxedil.

“My God, he’s been completely paralyzed. Flaxedil is a neuromuscular blocking agent; it would have totally incapacitated him.” John looked at Lestrade, laying on the gurney, he could tell the inspector had lost weight, his muscle mass was almost completely gone; his face was gaunt and strained. “We have to get him out of here.” He moved closer to Lestrade, “Greg, it’s John. We’re going to get you out of here, just hold on. Help is coming.”

He waived the paramedics in, who immediately set to work. John checked Lestrade’s pupillary response, finding Lestrade’s pupils were dilated, though still reactive. Slowly, John realized the horror of what had happened to Lestrade over the past few weeks. He had been kept completely in the dark with drug-induced paralysis so he could not move or speak. He was trapped in the dark, a prisoner in his own body.

The paramedics had placed an oxygen mask over Lestrade’s face, were trying to raise his blood pressure. His pulse was ominously slow; he appeared to be barely breathing. John couldn’t tell if Lestrade was conscious or not, given the paralysis. He hoped he wasn’t, because if he was, he would be in a lot of pain.

Donovan came rushing in, she and the rest of the officers had finished searching the building; there was no sign of Scott. Donovan gasped when she saw the inspector.

“Is he still….?” She trailed off, not able to bring herself to ask if Lestrade was dead.

“He’s alive, but barely. We have to get him to a hospital.” John told her.

“I’m coming with him,” Donovan announced. John could tell she was scared, may create problems in the ambulance if she came with him.

“Sergeant, I know you are worried about Lestrade, but the paramedics need to do their job. Why don’t I go with them, you stay here with Sherlock and the rest of the officers, look for anything that could lead you to Scott. He’s still out there somewhere,” John placed his hands on Donovan’s shoulders to reassure her. She nodded in agreement.

“Dr. Watson?” One of the paramedics cut in, “If you are coming, then we need to get going. He needs to get into surgery as soon as possible to get that tube out. “

John nodded. He looked at the EKG monitor; Lestrade’s heart rate was frighteningly slow. As John watched, the monitor beeped and the lines went flat. Lestrade’s heart had stopped beating.


	2. Light

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lestrade's been rescued, but still has a long road a head of him-- and a psychotic killer on his trail.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, here is (finally) the second half. I know I'm a terrible, terrible fanfic writer and I'm seven months overdue, but here it is. Hope you enjoy it and as always, comments are always greatly appreciated.

Molly was waiting at the hospital with Mycroft and Woods. Mycroft was on his phone, giving orders to his PA, Woods was sitting nervously in one of the chairs in the waiting room. He kept checking his mobile for updates on Lestrade. Molly was pacing restlessly back and forth, her face a combination of fear and worry.

“Dr. Hooper, please sit down,” Woods encouraged her gently. “Pacing won’t bring them here any faster.”

“I know. I just can’t believe this is happening. “Tears were forming in her eyes.

There was a commotion at the ambulance entrance, someone was being brought in. Molly stopped pacing and looked nervously from Mycroft to Woods. John entered the waiting area a few minutes later.

“How is he?” Woods asked, standing when he saw John.

“Not good.” John shook his head. “He flat lined in the ambulance. The paramedics brought him back, but barely. They’re taking him into surgery now. He’s incredibly weak though, it’s not certain whether he’ll survive.”

“What happened?” Molly asked.

“Apparently Dr. Scott had a more sadistic revenge plan in mind than we thought.” John told them. “He was keeping Lestrade in the operating theater of an old hospital, completely in the dark. “

Molly’s eyes were wide with horror; Woods sank back into the chair as John continued.

“He’s been given Flaxedil continuously. It’s neuromuscular paralytic. He was completely paralyzed. A feeding tube had been inserted, but became seriously infected. He was septic by the time we got there. “

Molly sat down next to Mycroft, who gaped at John, horrified. Molly couldn’t control the tears any longer; they slid irrepressibly down her cheeks. Mycroft placed a hesitant hand on her shoulder; she turned and buried her face in his chest, sobbing uncontrollably.

“What are his chances?” Woods asked, his face completely white. John shook his head, he didn’t know.

“Where is Sherlock?” Mycroft asked over Molly’s head.

“He stayed with Donovan and Anderson. Scott was gone by the time we arrived. They are trying to figure out where Scott would have gone. We did find his sister Michelle though,” John continued.

“Did you question her? Does she know where Scott is?” Woods asked, hopefully.

“She’s dead. Scott killed her; presumably for calling the police.” John informed them.

“Scott may try to come here. Finish off Lestrade,” Woods pointed out as he got out his mobile. “I’m having officers posted at every entrance, outside the theater and Lestrade’s room when they are finished.”

“That’s a lot of manpower that would be better suited searching for the doctor, “Mycroft pointed out. “I can have men posted at the entrances, but I think it may be wise to have an officer and one of my men both outside Lestrade’s room and the theater.” Mycroft pulled his mobile out also.  

After they had officers and secret service posted at the entrances, the theater and the recovery area, there was nothing left but to wait. Sherlock and Donovan came after they had finished at the hospital. There was no trace of Scott anywhere; all they found were discarded liquid supplement containers, a pair of night-vision glasses and a notebook, detailing Lestrade’s worsening condition.

“How is he?” Sherlock asked after they had filled them in on what they had found.

“Not good. He’s in surgery now, may be a while still. He’s extremely weak, may not be able to handle the strain.” John told them.

Donovan sat down next to Molly, who had composed herself enough to sit up and was wiping her eyes with Mycroft’s handkerchief. Both women leaned into each other and began weeping.

Finally, after what seemed like hours, a man dressed in scrubs found them in the waiting room.

“Are you here for Inspector Lestrade?” He asked.

Everyone looked up at him and nodded.

“How is he doctor?” John asked anxiously.

“He made it through surgery and is in recovery now. We were successfully able to remove the infected feeding tube and reverse the Flaxedil. He is very, very weak and very ill though. We have him on a course of potent antibiotics, along with protein and other supplements to rebuild his muscle mass. For the time being, because of his weakened condition and the infection in his body that has compromised his immune system, we have placed him in a medically induced coma. Also, because of the state of his immune system, we have to ask that no one visit him during this time. You can stay here in the waiting area, the nurses and I will keep you informed of his condition, but we cannot risk any chance of contamination right now.”

Donovan and Molly cried harder into each other’s shoulder; all color was gone from Woods face, while Sherlock seethed with anger at Scott for putting Lestrade in this situation.

“How long?” John asked as calmly as he could, feeling his own anger beginning to flare.

“It’s hard to say right now. Once his fever has gone down and his immune system improved we’ll bring him out of it. Can’t say for certain how long that may take though, could be as long as two weeks to improve his immune system.” The doctor continued. “We have also inserted a nasogastric tube, since the site of the gastric tube has become infected.”

After the doctor had answered the rest of their questions and assured them they were doing everything they could to save Lestrade, he left them to attend to the rest of his patients.

“Find this man,” John said, turning to Sherlock. “Do whatever mental leaps and bounds you have to to find Scott.”

“I will ensure every available resource from the Met is used to help locate him.” Woods turned to Donovan and Sherlock “Do whatever you have to, don’t worry about warrants or procedure, I’ll work that out later. Just find the man that did this to the inspector. “Woods was now turning red with anger.

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It was close to two weeks before Lestrade was brought out of the coma and anyone could see him. He was still extremely weak, in and out of consciousness. He had been a respirator to help his breathing, which remained ragged and uneven. The physical therapists came almost every day, moving Lestrade’s arms and legs to prevent the muscle atrophy from getting any worse. They also wanted to prevent any possibility of blood clots since he had been immobilized for so long.

It was decided that he shouldn’t be alone, John, Sherlock, Donovan, Molly and even Mycroft, Woods and Anderson all stayed with Lestrade at different points. He wasn’t lucid, but they didn’t want him to wake up alone nonetheless.

Molly knew one of Lestrade’s favorite authors so she brought several of his books and began reading to Lestrade whenever she was there. Mycroft would tell him about various operas and play music from them from time to time. He had learned some time ago that the inspector had a secret affinity for opera. Anderson and John both knew Lestrade was an Arsenal supporter and would tell him about recent matches. Sherlock, who was rather uncomfortable with talking to Lestrade when he wasn’t conscious, began analyzing the hospital staff, from the nurses and doctors, to the porters, cleaners and volunteers.

After another week, Lestrade started to become conscious more and more, though he still couldn’t speak due to the nasogastric tube and respirator. After the infection had been cleared up for over 3 weeks, the doctor decided to replace the nasogastric tube with a gastric tube and the respirator with a nasal cannula, however it was still another several days before Lestrade had the strength to speak. John was sitting next to him, flipping through the book Molly had left behind.

“John,” Lestrade’s voice was barely more than a whisper; it took John a moment to realize Lestrade had spoken. “Water.” Lestrade was having trouble, his voice hoarse from lack of use and raw from the ventilator.

John put the book down and moved closer to Lestrade. “ I can’t get you any water yet, but I’ll see if the nurses can get you some ice chips.” John patted Lestrade’s shoulder and stood, going to the nurses’ station to let them know Lestrade was conscious and ask if he could have some ice. The nurse consented, retrieving a paper cup filled with ice chips and a spoon. John returned with the cup and sat down next to the bed.

“You’re still weak, let me.” John spooned a couple ice chips into the inspector’s mouth.

The nurse came in to check Lestrade’s vitals. She fussed with the IV’s and monitor for a few minutes, checked Lestrade’s feeding tube; when he saw it, his eyes widened in terror.

“It’s alright.” John reassured him. “The infection is gone; a new one was placed a couple days ago to replace the nasogastric tube.” Lestrade looked at John confused. “You probably don’t remember it; you have been pretty out of it for a while. You’ve been here for over 3 weeks.”

Lestrade tried to speak, but couldn’t get the words out; John fed him a few more ice chips.

“Thought…I was…gonna die….there,” Lestrade finally whispered. “How…did you…find me?”

“That’s not important right now. You need to rest, save your strength. You’re still pretty weak. “John gave Lestrade’s shoulder a gentle squeeze.

Lestrade wanted to argue, he wanted to know what had happened, how they found him. He also wanted to know what happened to Stacy. She had been so kind to him, he didn’t want anything to happen to her. He did want to know who the other captor was, and what had happened to him. He couldn’t though. He was exhausted from the few sentences he had said. He tried to nod in agreement, but found he couldn’t do that either. His head just fell forward and he couldn’t lift it back up. He felt John reach over and place it back on the pillow for him.

“Try not to move too much. Your muscles have severely atrophied; it’s going to take some time to re-strengthen them. Get some rest, I’m going to call the others, let them know you’re awake.” John gave Lestrade’s shoulder another gentle squeeze before standing up. Lestrade’s eyes slid shut, he was asleep.

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Sherlock could find no trace of where Scott had gone. There were officers at his penthouse, and both hospitals. No one had seen him. There were also alerts at the train stations and airport in case he tried to leave London. So far there was nothing.

Molly had concluded her autopsy on Michelle Scott; she died from her neck being broken.

Anderson was monitoring Scott’s bank account and credit cards. Looking for any recent purchases that would tell them where Scott was.

Mycroft had a team of people watching all the CCTV cameras, Scott didn’t appear in any of them.

Sherlock and Donovan were going over property that Scott owned when John called to say Lestrade was awake and lucid. Sherlock wanted to continue investigating, but he knew Donovan wanted to see Lestrade, he did also.

They arrived at the hospital at the same time as Molly, whom John had also called. He met them outside Lestrade’s room.

“He’s lucid, but weak. He could barely move his head; it took everything he had to say 2 sentences. He’s asleep at the moment,” John informed them.

“Can we see him?” Molly asked anxiously. She had been worrying non-stop about Lestrade since she learned of his disappearance. Even the times that she sat with him, reading to him, she was worried.

John nodded and moved so the other three could enter. “Try not to wake him; he needs to rest.”

Molly went to one side of the bed while Donovan went to the other. They both took his hand, Molly softly running her fingers through Lestrade’s hair. Sherlock stood uncomfortably at the foot of the bed.

“Have you made any progress finding Scott?” John whispered.

“No. He’s a ghost, there’s no trace of him.” Donovan answered, not looking away from her boss.

“He’s lying low. He knows that we found Lestrade and will be looking for him, so he’s hiding out until the dust settles again.” Sherlock informed him.

“Have you considered that he may attempt to alter his appearance?” John asked.

“We have. The CCTV footage is being filtered through a facial-recognition program, so even if he does, the computer will catch it.” Sherlock told him.

The doctor came in to check on Lestrade while they were with him.

“Dr. Hooper, Dr. Watson,” He nodded at Molly and John as he picked up Lestrade’s medical chart.

“How is he, Doctor?” Donovan asked hesitantly.

Lestrade began to moan softly, his leg twitching; Molly squeezed his hand gently to reassure him.

“Why don’t we talk outside, let the inspector rest,” The doctor suggested. The four of them followed him into the hallway.

“He seems to be doing well. He’s responding to the treatment, the infection is gone and his vitals have stabilized. It’s encouraging that he was awake and lucid, even if for a short period of time. We do still have him on some strong antibiotics, along with blood thinners to reduce the risk of blood clots; because of the amount of time he was immobilized, deep-vein thrombosis and embolisms are possible, so we want to reduce that risk as much as possible. “

“Will he recover?” John asked.

“It’s going to take time. As his strength rebuilds he’ll need intense physical and occupational therapy. Not only does he need to re-strengthen his muscles, but will have to retrain the nerves as well, and that will take time. The physical therapists have of course already begun, just by moving his limbs; however once he is strong enough it is going to be more intensive.”

“His prognosis is good then, right?” Molly was trying not to sound too hopeful.

“Well, it’s better than it was when he was brought in 3 weeks ago, but I must caution you, he still has a long way to go and may not recover all muscle function he had previously. It is possible that he will have to use a cane or crutches for the rest of his life.” The doctor informed them. “There is also a slight possibility that he won’t recover enough muscle strength and may be confined to a wheelchair.”

“What’s the next step, Doctor?” John asked.

“The main thing is rest. Let his body heal itself. We were able to successfully take him off the respirator and replace it with the nasal cannula and he’s being given a continuing supply of nutrients that he lost, along with a high-protein, calorie and carbohydrate diet in the g-tube. I would like to get him eating regular food within the next couple of weeks or so if possible. We need to conduct a swallow test first though, to make sure he is able to.” The doctor explained. “If he passes that, then we’ll put him on a diet of high-protein, high-calorie, easily digestible foods.”

“Why high calorie?” Sherlock asked curiously.

“To regain weight.“ The doctor answered. ”It will boost his metabolism, make it easier for the muscles to re-grow.”

“Do you know how long he will be here?” Donovan asked.

“It’s hard to say. As long as he continues responding to the treatment and his physical therapy is successful, hopefully we can move him to a rehabilitation facility within the next few weeks. “

“Why wait? If he needs physio this badly, then why wait that long to take him a rehab facility?” Sherlock enquired.

“He still needs constant monitoring. His organs suffered minimal damage, but as I’ve said, he is still extremely weak. Plus the fact that he went into cardiac arrest in the ambulance; we don’t want to risk it happening again in a rehab facility.”

“That was 3 weeks ago, is he still at that much risk?” Donovan wondered.

“Due to his weakened condition yes; he is improving, however if there is too much strain, then it could possibly happen again.” The doctor nodded, “If there are no other questions, I need to see to the rest of my patients.”

“Thank you for your time Doctor,” John politely nodded back.

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John and Molly stayed with Lestrade while Sherlock and Donovan returned to Scotland Yard after their visit with the doctor. As they re-entered the room, Molly sat down next to the bed while John went over to the window.

Molly looked down at Lestrade. He was still dreadfully pale and gaunt. He barely looked like the inspector she was used to coming into Bart’s while on a case. She was used to seeing him as strong, capable, now he just seemed _small_. She felt a tear slide down her cheek, followed by a gentle squeeze on her shoulder from John. She had been so absorbed with Lestrade she hadn’t noticed him move away from the window.

“He’ll be ok. He’s a fighter.” John reassured her. Molly nodded, wiping her eyes. John handed her a tissue from box by the bed.

“I know. It’s just hard seeing him like this.” She whispered, picking up Lestrade’s hand, when she did she felt the inspector give hers a light squeeze; Molly squeezed his hand back. “I wish there was more I could do though. I feel so useless, just sitting here while the rest of you look for Scott.” She wiped a tear from her eye.

“You’re doing plenty just being here. The most important part is that Lestrade knows he’s not alone, that he has people that care about him.” John assured her. “Remember, he went through almost a month of Hell before we found him. He needs his friends now more than ever.”

At that moment, Lestrade let out a soft moan, almost on cue. Molly squeezed his hand again, softly stroked his cheek. His eyes opened, he blinked a couple times before he was able to focus on Molly.

“Hi,” She smiled, as she continued to rub his cheek.

“Hi,” Molly almost didn’t hear him, his voice was so quiet. She moved closer to the bed, keeping her hand wrapped around his.

“I’m going to get some coffee,” John said from behind Molly, before leaving the room.

“We’ve all been worried about you,” Molly smiled at him.

Lestrade tried to reach his hand over, to pat hers, but couldn’t. His hand just flopped softly on the sheet.

“I’m…..paralyzed….it’s permanent,” He breathed, a tear forming in his eyes.

“No, Greg. You’re very weak though. The drug you were given was a type of paralytic. The doctors reversed it, but you will need therapy to retrain your nerves and rebuild the muscles. You’re going to be fine.” She reached over, and took his other hand in hers.

“I….heard you,” he whispered.

“Heard what?” Molly looked at him puzzled.

“When….you read….to me…I heard….you.”

“We’ve all been with you Greg. You’re not alone, not anymore.” She gave his hands a gentle squeeze.

Lestrade tried to say something but couldn’t. The effort was too much. He was exhausted just from the few words he had said. Molly noticed and squeezed his hands again.

“It’s ok Greg, you don’t need to talk; save your strength.” She told him. “Try to rest. “

“Stay?” It was barely more than a whisper and took everything he had to say it. He didn’t want her to leave though.

“Of course I’ll stay. Like I said, you’re not alone anymore,” She let go of one of his hands and picked up the book John had been looking through earlier. “Do you want me keep reading to you?” Lestrade attempted a small nod.

Molly opened the book to where she had left off the last time, she had only read about a page and a half when Lestrade drifted off to sleep again. She gently ran a hand through his hair and continued reading.

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As soon as Sherlock and Donovan walked into the office at the Met, another officer came running over.

“I think I may have found something.” He told them excitedly, gripping a piece of paper. Both look at him expectantly. “I went through the information from the first case, when the inspector first investigated Dr. Scott. I was reading the statements from his family and friends, and found this. “He handed the paper to Donovan. She read it quickly with Sherlock scanning it from over her shoulder.

“His flatmate from University has a cabin in Wetherby, just outside Leeds. Said they used to go there for holidays when they were in school.” The officer continued. “I checked, the cabin is still owned by the flatmate, a Paul Whatley. “

“Good work,” Donovan told him, turning to Sherlock, “We need to find this Paul Whatley, and search his cabin.” She turned back to the officer and asked” Do you have any contact information for Whatley?”

“I just got it when you came in.” He rushed over to a desk, snatched another sheet of paper and handed it to Donovan.

Donovan pulled out her mobile and dialed the number on the top of the page, there was no answer however, so she left a message asking him to return the call as soon as he could. She tried his work number next, still got no answer.

“We need to send officers to his office and residence. “ Donovan told the officer.

“May be too late; Scott may have already killed him after gaining access to the cabin.” Sherlock pointed out.

“Yeah, I thought of that. Hope we’re wrong though.” Donovan called Woods, told him what the officer had found. Woods agreed to have officers sent Whatley’s address, and told them to start assembling a team to go to the cabin.

“Get a team together and get up there; I’ll work on the warrants, just get going.” Woods told her. She knew Woods wanted Scott just as bad as the rest of them did.

They were on the road heading to the cabin in Wetherby in under an hour and got there in just under 3 hours. They could tell upon entering that someone had been there recently. The coffee maker was still warm and the dishes in the sink were recently used. It only took the officers a few minutes to clear the cabin, whoever was there had left in a hurry.

“Whatley’s still alive, he tipped Scott off that we were looking into the cabin,” Sherlock noted after he finished walking through the cabin.

“How can you be sure Whatley’s the one that tipped him off?” Donovan enquired.

“Who else could it be? Scott’s not likely to contact many people, only the few that he trusts. Whatley may be the only one at all that knows where he is. After hearing your message, he contacted Scott and told him he needed to leave.” Sherlock advised.

“He couldn’t have gotten far,” Donovan pulled out her mobile. She had officers dispatched to all the major roadways that Scott could have taken.

“Sgt. Donovan?” One of the officers was standing in the doorway, “This gentleman says this is his cabin.”

“I’m Paul Whatley. Got a message you were interested in the cabin, decided it best to drive up here to talk to you.” The man explained. He was about average height, slightly stocky around the middle and his sandy hair was starting to recede.

“Do you know Nicholas Scott?” Donovan questioned.

“Yes, we went to University together. “ Whatley answered, confused.

“Have you been in touch with him recently?” Sherlock asked.

“He called a few weeks ago, said he needed to get out of London for a while, wanted to clear his head. He asked if I still had my cabin. When I told him I did, he asked if he could borrow it for a while.”

“So the two of you have remained close since your university days?” Donovan queried.

“Not really. We have a pint occasionally, that’s about it. I was a little surprised when he called to ask about the cabin.”

“Did he say why he wanted to use it?” She continued.

“Just said he wanted to get out of London, clear his head. He said he’d been having some troubles recently, wanted to be alone.” Whatley explained. “What’s this about?”

“You haven’t seen the news?” Donovan asked incredulously.

“Not really. My practice keeps me pretty busy, I don’t really keep up. Why?”

“Dr. Scott is wanted for the abduction and attempted murder of a detective inspector with Scotland Yard,” Donovan informed him. A look of horror crossed Whatley’s face.

“You can’t be serious?” Whatley exclaimed in disbelief. “Nick has always been impulsive, maybe a little controlling, but he tried to kill someone?” Donovan nodded grimly.

“If you have any information about where he is, please tell us.” Donovan implored. “We can hold you as an accessory if it turns out you helped him escape, knowing he was wanted.”

“I didn’t, I swear. Like I said, I’m usually busy with my practice, don’t have time to watch the news stations.” Whatley was almost pleading.

“So why did you call Scott and tell him we were on our way?” Sherlock was eyeing Whatley suspiciously.

“I didn’t. I was with patients all afternoon. My secretary informed me you had called.” Whatley stated.

“I left a voicemail for you. How did your secretary know?” Donovan questioned.

“She screens all my voicemails for me. I don’t always have time to check them myself, but I need to know if there’s an issue with a patient.” He shrugged. .

“What kind of medicine do you practice?” Donovan asked.

“I’m a cosmetic surgeon,” Whatley replied.

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Molly had continued reading to Lestrade for quite some time after he had fallen asleep. She was afraid to stop; didn’t want the inspector to think she had left him. Finally, she put the book down and picked up his hand again. His skin was so papery and dry, she was afraid to put too much pressure on it for fear of tearing the skin. As she watched him sleep, she noticed his lips were dry and chapped as well. She knew they were probably sore, even though he was being given an IV to rehydrate him. Molly reached into her bag and pulled out a small container of lip balm. She put a small amount on her finger and gently rubbed it onto the inspector’s lips, hoping to ease some of the dryness.

Lestrade began to stir, he moaned softly as Molly stroked his cheek with the back of her hand. He rubbed his lips together, feeling the balm Molly had applied to them.

“Stacy?” he barely breathed, not opening his eyes.

“It’s Molly, Greg,” She whispered.

His eyes flickered open. “Where’s ….Stacy?” He asked, he had wanted to know since he had woken up the first time. He hoped if she were in jail, they were being kind to her, as she had been to him.

“We don’t need to talk about that right now Greg. Go back to sleep.” Molly continued to rub his cheek.

“She was….kind….to me. Was she….arrested?” Lestrade pressed on.

“Go back to sleep Greg. We can talk about that later.” Molly hated not being honest with him, but she wasn’t sure he could handle knowing that Michelle Scott was Stacy, and that she had been killed trying to help him. She wanted to wait until John was in the room with her; she wasn’t sure what the inspector’s reaction would be.

Lestrade wanted to press harder, find out what had happened, but he couldn’t, he didn’t have the strength to continue. Slowly his eyes slid shut and he was asleep again. Molly continued rubbing his cheek even after he fell asleep.

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"You're a cosmetic surgeon?" Donovan asked, "Did you ever do any work on Scott's sister?"

“Michelle? No, can’t say I did. She didn’t really need any, girl’s a knockout,“ Whatley almost chuckled.

“Thank you, doctor. The officers will get contact information from you if we need anything else, it would be wise not to do any traveling for a while either.” Donovan advised, her eyes narrowing at the last part.

“Of course, whatever I can do to help,” Whatley consented before be directed by another officer out of the room.

“He’s lying,” Sherlock stated after Whatley had left.

“How do you know?” Donovan still wasn’t completely convinced of Sherlock’s abilities.

“Michelle Scott’s body has no evidence of recent surgeries. Her scars are all well concealed and long healed. She had it done some time ago.”

“So? Whatley said he didn’t see Scott that much. Maybe he hadn’t seen her since then.”

“No, it would have been at least a year and a half ago. Scott is an antisocial narcissist, makes him very manipulative. He would have spent more time with Whatley than the doctor let on so he could use him for whatever his needs were.” Sherlock explained.

“Like doing surgery on his sister; then why lie to us about it?” Donovan wondered.

“Because he didn’t keep a record of it. Scott needed Michelle’s surgery to be quiet; there could be no evidence that she had it done. “

“So if anything happened, the surgery couldn’t be traced back to him and no one would recognize Michelle. “ Donovan nodded finally understanding.

“And because she had it done to look like the dead fiancée of a Detective Inspector from Scotland Yard. That would look pretty suspicious if she just went to a clinic to have it done. “

“Scott’s a heart surgeon, he couldn’t do cosmetic surgery himself, so he needed someone he could control to do it.” Donovan added. “If that’s true, then they are probably still in contact, meaning Whatley _did_ warn Scott we were onto the cabin.”

“Sgt. Donovan,” An officer called from the back of the cabin. “Found this on the desk.” He handed her a piece of paper with the number 435 written on it.

“That’s Lestrade’s room number,” Donovan gasped.

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John was in the hospital canteen, having a cup of coffee, hoping to keep himself awake. He was exhausted after the last few weeks. He was happy they had found Lestrade, and even more so that the inspector was getting better. Part of him was still worried though. Worried that Lestrade may never make a full recovery. With the amount of muscle tone he had lost, it was going to be difficult to build it back up. He remembered the words Lestrade’s doctor had said earlier that day; Lestrade may have to use crutches or a cane for the rest of his life, or worse still, be confined to a wheelchair.

John hated thinking about that. He hated the thought that the inspector’s injuries could become a permanent disability. He knew how active Lestrade was, he played on a weekend football team, went running every day. John didn’t know what would happen if Lestrade couldn’t do that anymore.

He didn’t like leaving the inspector’s room, but Molly was with him, he knew Lestrade would be ok, Molly would look out for him. She was tougher than most people thought.

He shook his head and smiled at that last thought, took another sip of coffee when his phone beeped. He had a text from Sherlock.

**“Scott knows Lestrade’s room number, is on way to hospital. “**

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Lestrade was still asleep, Molly continued stroking his cheek. She was fearful that if she stopped, Lestrade would wake up. She knew it was ridiculous, but after what he had been through, she wanted him to feel as safe as possible.

Like John, she was worried about what the doctor had said about Lestrade possibly needing a cane or wheelchair the rest of his life. She hoped as he continued his physio he could regain his muscle mass, but she knew how difficult that was going to be. She had become very familiar with muscle atrophy while working in the morgue, she had done several autopsies on people who had been bedridden for long periods of time to where their muscles atrophied and they couldn’t get it back. Most of them had just wasted away. She didn’t want that to happen to Lestrade; she knew though that the inspector would need the support and encouragement of his friends.

There was a sharp knock on the door; Molly looked up to see a man dressed in hospital scrubs and a lab coat with short dark hair, a neatly trimmed beard and wire-rimmed glasses.

“Hello Miss.“ He nodded to her, picking up Lestrade’s chart. “Everything looks pretty good, he seems to be doing much better.”

“He is.” Molly agreed. “Sorry, who are you?”

“I’m his doctor.” The man claimed.

“No, Dr. Sherman is his doctor. “

“Dr. Sherman had to step out, he asked me to check on his patients for him. It’s pretty common practice around here really.” The man shrugged.

“Not this time, not this patient,” Molly rose to her feet and stood between the man and Lestrade. Something wasn’t right. She had worked in the hospital’s morgue for over 6 years. Almost all the doctors knew her and called her either Dr. Hooper or Molly. She had a bad feeling rising in her gut.

“It’s fine Miss. I just need to give the inspector his next dose of Heparin.” The man claimed, trying to get around Molly.

“He’s not due for his next dose for another 3 hours. “ Molly stayed where she was between the man and the inspector.

“This is why we discourage family members from reading the medical charts. They can easily be misinterpreted.” The man was unbelievably condescending.

“Well, I guess it’s a good thing I’m a pathologist then. “ Molly said tersely. “Funny, I’ve been here for over 6 years and know most of the doctors. I don’t know you though.”

“Just transferred from Surrey. “   Molly didn’t believe anything he was saying and was becoming more and more convinced she was face to face with Nicholas Scott. She could see the guards in the hallway, they must not have realized who they let in, but she couldn’t alert them that something was wrong without tipping off Scott.

Thankfully she didn’t have to worry about it too long when John came rushing in the room.

“Stay away from that man, Scott,” John had his gun out and was pointing it directly at Scott’s chest.

Scott grabbed Molly, planning to hold her in front of him as a shield. Molly yanked down on his hand, at the same time planting her heel into his groin with as much force as she could. Scott let go of his hold on Molly, and dropped to the ground, but only for a moment. He was back on his feet in less than a second went for the gun, they both struggled for it, causing John to drop it. He had one hand pinning Scott’s arm behind his back, the other in a chokehold around Scott’s neck, desperately trying to keep Scott away from the gun. Scott managed to pull John’s arm from around his neck, twisting his wrist so he would have to let go of Scott’s other arm. He felt John’s grip on his arm loosen, he wrenched away, reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a hypodermic needle containing a clear fluid, he advanced on John. Before either of them could do anything though, there was a deafening boom, and Scott dropped to the floor with a hole directly between his eyes. John turned to see Molly holding the gun.

Molly dropped it when John turned to look at her, a look of shock on her face.

“I’ve never shot anyone before,” She whispered.

“It’s ok, he would have killed all of us,” John consoled her, scooping up the gun off the floor.

Molly looked over at the bed, Lestrade was awake, horror in his eyes at what had happened.

“Greg!” Molly hurried back to his side as the guards that were posted at the door came running in.

“Was that…him?” Lestrade whispered. “The man…that did…this…to me?”

“Yes,” Molly nodded, tears flowing from her eyes. She hadn’t thought about Lestrade waking up at the sound of the gun, she had just reacted, grabbing the gun when she got the chance.

John walked over and put his hand on Molly’s shoulder.

“Dr. Nicholas Scott,” John informed him. Lestrade looked puzzled.

“You never filed charges, but he lost his job and his medical licence, both of which he blamed you for.” John explained.

Before Lestrade could ask any more questions, several nurses came in, followed by Sherlock and Donovan.

“You missed the excitement, “ John told them grimly. He bent down and picked up the needle that Scott had pulled from his pocket. “I have a feeling I already know what this is, but you may want to have it tested anyway.”

Molly stood and walked over to John, taking the needle from him. “I’ll test it myself,” She said, dropping it into the evidence bag Donovan had produced.

While the Scott’s body was removed and the crime scene unit collected everything they could, Lestrade was moved to another room. After getting him settled into bed again, the nurse gave him something to help him go back to sleep.

Molly went back to the lab and tested what was in the needle. John’s instincts were right, potassium chloride. It would have stopped the inspector’s heart in a matter of seconds and was almost completely untraceable. In the condition Lestrade was in, it would have appeared his heart simply gave out. No one would have thought differently and Scott would have walked away. She felt a tear slide down her cheek as she thought about how close they came to losing the inspector, again.

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                Lestrade was growing stronger, continuing his physical therapy and finally was able to eat regular food again.

John stopped by to see him as the inspector was finishing his latest session. He wore a back brace and was tethered to the therapist to keep him upright, but he was _walking._ When he got back into the room, the therapist, Jordan, helped Lestrade back into bed and guided him through several hand and wrist exercises.

“Guess who made it all the way to the lift bank and back today?” Jordan smiled.

“That’s great Greg. You’re doing really well.” John said encouragingly.

“Yeah, made it less than 5 meters wearing this thing while he held me up,” Lestrade said acerbically, indicating Jordan.

“Greg, a few weeks ago you couldn’t even get your head off the pillow. You’re making progress, but it’s going to take some time. ” John told him gently, pulling the blanket over Lestrade after he laid back down. “I’m going to step outside and talk to Jordan for a moment, get some rest, I’ll be back in a couple minutes.” John patted Lestrade lightly on the shoulder before walking out of the room with the therapist while a nurse re-attached Lestrade’s monitors and IV.

“He is doing remarkably well, considering what happened.” Jordan told him as John pulled the door shut.

“How much longer until he goes to a rehabilitation facility?” John asked.

“With the progress he making, not long; maybe another couple weeks or so; he’s still having trouble standing, we need to get him at least using a walker first. He seems to be having a lot of problems with his hands and wrists though. He’s not able to grasp or hold anything, he doesn’t appear to have any nerve damage, it’s just a matter of re-training them, but it will take some time.”

“What’s his next step?”

“We want to focus on building the muscles back up, getting him to be able to stand on his own. Also, like I said, he needs a lot of work with his hands. He needs to be able to use a walker before going to rehab, but he can’t grasp it at the moment, so we really need to work on that. The other issue with his hands is that he can’t hold utensils to feed himself; one of the nurses has to assist him. “

“Thank you, Jordan,” John shook the therapist’s hand and walked back into Lestrade’s room. “Jordan says you’re making very good progress; should be able to move you to rehab facility soon.” John told him as he sat down next to the bed.

“I’d rather just go home,” Lestrade said softly. “I’m tired of being here.”

“I know Greg. You will get to go home eventually, but you have to get better first. You are making progress, but you have to stick with it. You’re already much better than when you first got here.” John was afraid Lestrade may become depressed; he and Molly had even talked about it, both agreeing that the best thing was to continue giving him constant encouragement and support.

“I hate this. I hate being stuck in this bed, only getting up to use the loo or for physio. I hate that I can’t go to the loo alone, I hate that the nurses have to feed me because I can’t use my hands properly anymore and I hate that Scott did this to me. I just want my life back.” Tears began forming in his eyes.

“You’ll get it back Greg, I promise. Scott put you through hell, but it’s over now. He’s dead and you are getting better. You can’t give up.” John placed his hand on the older man’s arm, giving it a gentle squeeze. “Just hang in there a little longer.”

“No one has told me yet what happened to Stacy. I know she was working with Scott, but why? Is she in jail? Has she been charged with anything? She was the only one that was kind to me while I was there. Please, tell me where she is.” Lestrade’s deep brown eyes were pleading with John.

“She’s not in jail Greg.” John sighed. They had managed to avoid the subject so far. Only telling Lestrade about Scott’s actions, leaving out Michelle’s involvement; John and Molly had decided it best to wait to tell him because they weren’t sure how he would react. John knew he would have to tell Lestrade eventually, but wanted to do it with Molly in the room; Lestrade seemed to handle things better when she was there to comfort him.

“Then where is she?” Lestrade pressed.

“Well, to begin with, her name’s not Stacy,” John finally relented. Lestrade looked at him expectantly, wanting him to continue. “Her name is Michelle Scott, she’s Nicholas Scott’s younger sister.”

“But I’d met his sister. I interviewed her during the investigation. I was there when the psychologists evaluated her. She didn’t look anything like that.”

“She had plastic surgery to alter her features. You weren’t supposed to recognize her, “John explained. “She’s how we found you though. She called the Met, begging Sherlock to help you. She didn’t say exactly where you were, but she stayed on the line long enough to trace the call.” John hesitated, he wasn’t sure how Lestrade was going to respond to the rest.

“John, please tell me. Where is she? Is she alright?” Lestrade’s deep brown eyes were pleading with John.

“She’s dead Greg.” John finally told him. “Scott found out that she had called the police to help you, he broke her neck. We discovered her body when we found you.”

“She’s dead?” Lestrade was noticeably shocked. What color had returned now drained from his face, the tears he’d been fighting back now flowed freely. His heart monitor went off, registering the increase in his heart rate, he was having trouble breathing. John silently scolded himself for not waiting until Molly was there to calm him.

Several nurses came in, one pulled an oxygen mask over Lestrade’s face while another checked his pulse.

“Greg, calm down. I know it’s a shock, but she was trying to help you.” John looked at the nurses, told one of them to page Molly,

One of the nurses had a needle she injected into Lestrade’s IV line. “It’s only a sedative, Inspector,” She explained. “Just to help you relax.”  

“It’s ok Greg. Just breathe.” John told him soothingly. “You just need to breathe, that’s right, just concentrate on taking deep breaths.” John massaged Lestrade’s arm gently as he spoke to him.

The tears continued flowing as Lestrade registered what John was telling him. He was in shock. The one person that had been kind to him, that made the entire ordeal somewhat bearable was dead. She was dead because she tried to help him. Lestrade began to feel it was his fault, that he was the reason she was dead.

Molly came sprinting into the room a few minutes later.

“What’s happened?” She asked looking first at John, then the nurses. “I got a page that I needed to come up here immediately.” She looked at Greg, he still had the oxygen mask on, tears flowing down his cheeks.

“I told him about Michelle Scott,” John told her. “I know I should have waited for you, but he was becoming agitated, and we had already held off this long.”

Molly quickly went to Lestrade’s side, grasping his hand in hers. “I’m sorry Greg. I know she tried to help you.” She pulled a handkerchief from her pocket and wiped the tears from Lestrade’s cheeks.

Finally, he began breathing almost normally again. The nurse removed the oxygen mask, but replaced it with a nasal cannula. The first one had been removed a couple days earlier, as Lestrade grew stronger he didn’t seem to need it anymore. After this episode though, the nurse decided it would be best to leave one on him for a while longer.

“It’s my fault,” Lestrade whispered after the nurse left. “She died because she was helping me.”

“No it’s not Greg. Her brother is the only one to blame.” Molly continued to wipe Lestrade’s eyes as the tears kept coming. “Try to get some sleep, ok? John and I will stay with you.” She squeezed the inspector’s hand.

The sedative the nurse had given him began to take effect, Lestrade felt his eyes growing heavy, finally closing as he drifted off to sleep.

John pulled a chair around the bed, sat down next to Molly.

“Well, today had been going good until now,” He said, looking at Lestrade. “He managed to walk all the way to the lift bank and back. Jordan thinks Lestrade should be able to go to rehab in a couple weeks or so.”

“That’s good. Hopefully this won’t cause any major setbacks in his recovery.” Molly sighed.

“I should have waited. He handles things much better when you are with him. He was begging me though. I was afraid if I didn’t he would become more agitated and make it worse.” John tried to explain.

“Oh, no John, that’s not what I meant. I didn’t mean this was your fault. He probably would have reacted the same even if both of us were here. “ Molly placed her hand on John’s arm to reassure him. “It’s just, now that he knows, how will he handle it?”

“Who knows? We knew he would blame himself for her death. He’s already struggling with depression from being here so long, hopefully this won’t make it worse,” John shook his head, watching his friend sleep.

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                By the end of the following week, Lestrade had been moved from the hospital to a rehabilitation facility. Mycroft had used his connections to get the inspector admitted to a private facility just outside London.

                Lestrade’s depression was getting worse though. He still felt responsible for Michelle’s death, and was growing frustrated by the slow progress of his therapy, even if everyone was saying how great he was doing.

                At the end of the second week, Lestrade’s therapists called John. The inspector had stopped eating, was refusing his physio and was barely speaking. John came as soon as he could.

                He entered Lestrade’s room, which looked more like a luxury hotel suite than a rehab facility, wood paneled walls, two sofas, a coffee table and a fireplace. He found the older man lying on a large four poster bed, staring at the ceiling.

                “Greg? What’s going on?” John asked, taking a seat in the armchair next to the bed. “Your therapists say you won’t eat and stopped going to physio, why?”

                Lestrade didn’t answer, didn’t look at John, just continued to stare at the ceiling.

                “Talk to me Greg, please.” John placed his hand on top of Lestrade’s. “Tell me what’s going on.”

                “I killed her,” Lestrade whispered softly.

                “No, Greg. You didn’t, her brother did. She did what she needed to to get you help. You have to stop blaming yourself.”

                “She was so kind when she came in to visit me. She massaged my back, rubbed ice on my lips when they were dry, she even bathed me and tried to help when I got sick.“ Lestrade continued to stare at the ceiling as he spoke. “She tried to bring my fever down, tried to disinfect the feeding tube. Now she’s dead. I can’t even thank her for everything she did.”

                “You can thank her by getting better Greg. That’s what she wanted, why she did everything she did for you, why she called the police. She didn’t want you to suffer anymore.”

                Lestrade didn’t respond, was still staring at the ceiling. John didn’t know what else to do to get through to the inspector. It wasn’t Lestrade’s fault that Michelle was dead.

                “Greg, you have to continue your physio. You know that right? All the progress you made at the hospital will be for nothing if you stop now. Your muscles will weaken again and you will be in a wheelchair. You know that’s not what Michelle would have wanted.”

                John let out a sigh. He couldn’t convince Lestrade he needed to continue his therapy. Finally, he gave up and just sat with him.

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                John had called Molly on his way to see Lestrade, let her know what the therapists had said. Molly headed for the facility as soon as she could. When she got there, she found Lestrade lying on the bed, John sitting in the chair next to him, gently massaging the inspector’s arm.

                He stood when Molly entered, directed her to one of the sofas so they wouldn’t disturb Lestrade.

                “What happened? He was making progress.” Molly asked sitting down on the sofa next to John.

                “His depression is getting worse. He still blames himself for Michelle Scott’s death. Now he’s refusing his physio and won’t eat anything. He’s barely speaking to anyone, me or the nurses.”

                “Have you spoken to his psychologist about this?” Molly asked. “She may be able to offer some insights that we don’t have.”

                “Not yet. I came straight to his room after they called me. “John informed her. “I think she’s still here. Will you stay with him while I speak with her?”

                “Of course, “Molly nodded.

                John walked over to Lestrade, whispered something to him before leaving the room. Molly sat down in the chair John had been in earlier. Lestrade was still staring at the ceiling; Molly grasped his hand in hers and gave it a gentle squeeze.

                “Greg?” She whispered softly. “It’s Molly. Can you hear me?” Lestrade gave a small nod.

                “I always lose them,” it was barely more than a whisper.

                “Who Greg? Who do you always lose?” Molly asked gently.

                “Everyone. Jennifer, Jerica, my mum, my dad, Jeffrey, and now Stacy.”

                Molly had never heard Lestrade talk about his past or his personal life. She knew Jerica was his ex-wife, but he had never mentioned anyone else before now.

                “Who are Jennifer and Jeffrey?” She asked, hoping she could draw more out of Lestrade.

                “Jeffrey was my brother. He died when we were kids. Fell out of the hay loft.”

                “Oh, Greg. I’m so sorry. How old were you?”

                “12. Jeffery was older, he was 13. We had an argument, he ran up to the hay loft and grabbed one of the pulley ropes, we used race on them all the time when we were younger. Hadn’t in a long time though. Dad installed an electrical pulley, but never took down the ropes. Jeffrey’s rope snapped, he fell, the spear that lifted the hay landed on him, stabbed him.”

                “I never knew.” Molly whispered softly. “Who’s Jennifer?”

                “Jennifer. Jennifer was….perfect.” Lestrade sounded almost wistful when he said her name. “We were to be married. Never did, she got sick. Brain tumor.”

                “I’m sorry Greg. “ Molly felt a tear slide down her cheek as she thought about how much loss Lestrade had suffered in his life.

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                John knocked lightly on the psychologist’s door, hoping to catch her before she left for the day. He was relieved when he heard a voice on the other side telling him to come in.

                “I’m Dr. Keller, how can I help you?” asked the woman behind an expansive mahogany desk. She appeared to be in her mid-forties, short blonde hair and tortoise shell glasses.

                “Hello Dr. Keller, I’m Dr. John Watson. I wanted to talk to you about Greg Lestrade.“ John told her, extending his hand, which Keller shook.

                “Right, the inspector. He seems to be having trouble coping with what’s happened and has become very withdrawn. I understand he went through a rather traumatic experience before he came here. “

                “He did, he almost died as a result of it.” John nodded.

                “He mentioned a woman was killed as a result of what happened to him?” Keller enquired.

                “Indirectly. One of his captors apparently had a change of heart and attempted to help him. She even phoned the police so we would find him, however the other captor found out and killed her for it.” John explained.

                “It was her brother that killed her, right?” John nodded.

                “Greg feels responsible for her death. She tried to help him and was killed as a result, so he blames himself.” John continued.

                “Guilt is not altogether uncommon in situations like this. He may feel some sort of bond with her because she was helping him, her death then breaks that bond and he’s unable to cope.”

                “A bond? You mean like Stockholm Syndrome?” John asked.

                “Something like that. Even though she was partly responsible for what happened, she showed him a certain degree of kindness. Remember, he believed he was going to die, her presence was sort of a light in the tunnel for him. He has also mentioned someone named Jennifer. Does that sound familiar?”

                “Jennifer was his fiancée about 20 years ago. She died before they could get married. This woman, Michelle, that had been part of his abduction, had had cosmetic surgery to resemble Jennifer. As his condition grew worse, he began to believe Michelle was Jennifer.”

                “That could be another part of the issue then. If he believed Michelle was Jennifer and she died as well then he may be feeling as though he was losing his fiancée all over again. “

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                Molly was still sitting with Lestrade when one of the staff members brought his dinner into the room. Lestrade was awake, but was still looking up at the ceiling, barely noticing Molly was still in the room or that food had been brought in. Molly instructed the staff member to leave the tray by the bed; she would take care of it. The employee obliged and left.

                “Greg? Your dinner’s here.” She told him gently.

                “Not hungry.” No louder than a whisper.

                “Greg, you have to eat something. Your body can’t grow any stronger if you don’t. Please? Eat just a little bit, for me?” She coaxed softly. Lestrade nodded slowly, tried to sit up, but had trouble. “Here, let me help you.”

She put her arms around Lestrade’s waist, his arms around her neck, and helped pull him into a sitting position, repositioning the pillows behind him to keep him propped up. She placed the tray in front of him and lifted the silver lid off one of the dishes. Beef stew, and it smelled amazing. Lestrade reached for the spoon, but couldn’t get his fingers around it properly to pick it up.

“Are you still having trouble with your hands?” Molly asked. Lestrade nodded slowly. “Does your therapist know?” He shook his head. “Greg, this is something you have to tell them. It won’t get any better if you don’t.“ Molly chided him gently as she wrapped her fingers around his on the spoon. “I’ll help you.”

Slowly, Molly helped him eat his dinner, or most of it anyway. Still, she was happy that he had eaten something. After he finished, she set the tray aside for the staff to collect later.

“Feeling a little better at least?” Molly asked, reaching for his hand.

“A little,” Lestrade responded quietly.

“Good. You still need to talk to your therapist though. Let him know that you are still having problems with your hands.” Molly told him firmly. “That’s why you’re here, to strengthen your body and muscles. “

“I don’t want to be here,” Lestrade answered softly. “I just want to go home, to my own flat, get my life back.” A single tear rolled down the inspector’s cheek.

“I know Greg, and you will, I promise. But you have to get better first. The only way that is going to happen is if you continue your physio and eat when you are supposed to.” She gave his hand a gentle squeeze.

“I’m just so tired. “ Lestrade whispered.

“It’s ok Greg. Why don’t you get some sleep, I’ll stay right here, ok?” Lestrade nodded and attempted to lie back down, but had trouble with that too. Molly put her arms around him again and helped him lie back down; readjusting his pillows and pulling the blankets back up over him.

“Thank you for coming,” Lestrade mumbled, almost half asleep.

“Of course Greg. Now close your eyes and go to sleep.“ She gently stroked his hair as she spoke. Lestrade was asleep before Molly finished the last sentence.

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John went back to Lestrade’s room after he had spoken to the psychologist. Lestrade was still asleep when he entered; Molly was sitting next to him, reading a book. She looked up when John entered.

                “How did it go with the psychologist?” Molly whispered, putting the book away as John sat down next to her.

                “Informative. Dr. Keller believes he is having trouble coping because he may have felt a sense of bond with Michelle while she attempted to care for him. Since she died before Lestrade got the chance to resolve anything, he is unable to deal with it. She also said that since Michelle had had cosmetic surgery so that she resembled Lestrade’s fiancée Jennifer that he may feel like he lost her twice.” John explained. “How did it go in here?”

                “Well, he did eat most of his dinner when it was brought in, but I had to help him. He’s still having trouble with his hands, couldn’t grasp the utensils himself. He said his therapist doesn’t know that he’s still having problems since he hasn’t been going to his physio.” Molly informed him.

                “That’s not good. His therapist needs to know so they can work on it. Without the proper use of his hands he’ll be helpless.” John shook his head. “Did he say why he hadn’t told his therapist?”

                “No. Just that he’s tired and wants to go home, wants his old life back.” Molly sighed and looked at the sleeping DI. She wished she knew what to do to help him. John seemed to read her thoughts.

                “You’re doing plenty being here Molly. As long as he knows there are still people that care about him, he’ll recover. It’s just going to take some time for him to learn to cope with what happened.”

                “Has Sherlock been to see him since he got here?” Molly asked curiously.

                “No, he keeps finding reasons not to come when I tell him I’m coming out to see him. I think it’s too hard for him to see Lestrade like this, not that Sherlock will ever admit that.” John said shaking his head.

                “It’s hard for all of us,” Molly said quietly.

                Lestrade began to stir, was muttering something in his sleep. Molly gently brushed his hair back and soothed “It’s ok Greg, go back to sleep.” Lestrade quieted at the sound of her voice.

                “How are you doing?” John asked Molly, an edge of concern in his voice.

                “Me? I’m fine. Why do you ask?” She seemed surprised by the question.

                “Well, you _did_ shoot and kill a man a few weeks ago,” John pointed out.

                “He was going kill Greg, he almost did kill him. Wouldn’t you have done the same?” She turned to face John.

                “Well, yes, but I was in the military; they train you for those sorts of things.”

                “They train you to fight off insane doctors wielding potassium chloride in a hospital room?” Molly asked sarcastically.

                “Well, they do train you to act in a variety of settings. Maybe not _that_ particular one.” John gave her a wry grin. “Seriously though Molly, how are you handling it?”

                “Ok. It was hard at first, I had just taken a man’s life, but when I think about what he did to Greg, to his sister, and his patients, it got a little easier to deal with.” She gave a small shrug. “And Woods said their not filing any charges since I was trying to protect Greg, and you.“ she added.

                “For which I am very grateful,” John smiled at her. "So is Lestrade, I think.”

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                Sherlock was standing over his microscope at Baker St when he heard familiar footsteps coming up the stairs into the flat.

                “Hello brother dear. What do I owe this visit?” He asked dryly without looking up.

                “As you know Sherlock, the inspector was moved to a rehabilitation facility over 2 weeks ago. It is my understanding that you have not been to see him. In fact it appears his only visitors are Drs. Watson and Hooper and Sgt. Donovan. Care to inform me why?” Mycroft cocked his head slightly as he spoke.

                “Why do you care if I visit Lestrade while he’s in rehab?” Sherlock was staring resolutely at his microscope, refusing to look at Mycroft.

                “Because he is your friend, you care about him.” Mycroft offered.

                “What does caring about someone do, Mycroft? It’s not going to make him any better any faster.”

                “It might. When the inspector was first taken to the hospital, you didn’t seem to have a problem staying with him or visiting him. Why now that he is in a rehabilitation clinic, are you deciding you don’t care?” Mycroft always knew exactly what buttons to push. Sherlock’s head immediately snapped up from the microscope he had been staring at.

                “I didn’t say I didn’t care!” He yelled at Mycroft, “Of course I care, but it’s not going to help him get any better, is it?”

                “You never know Sherlock. Did John tell you Inspector Lestrade’s therapists called him today? That’s why John went to see him.”

                “No, he didn’t tell me. Why would Lestrade’s therapist call John?” Sherlock was more wondering aloud rather than actually asking, a point which Mycroft ignored.

                “It appears he is having trouble coping with what has happened, and is refusing physio and won’t eat,” Mycroft informed him.

                “Why would he do that?” Sherlock asked almost stunned. “If he doesn’t do his physio or eat anything, he won’t recover, surely he knows that, so won’t he do it?”

                “Apparently he is suffering from severe depression and has become completely withdrawn. He feels responsible for Michelle Scott’s death, is having trouble dealing with his guilt.” Mycroft shrugged.

                “Why does Lestrade feel responsible for her death? He didn’t kill her. It’s completely illogical.” Sherlock wondered.

                “Logic has nothing to do with it Sherlock. It’s emotional; she attempted to ease his suffering and died as a result. For him, he believes he is at fault because she was helping him.”

                As they were talking, Sherlock heard John coming up the stairs into the flat. He and Mycroft exchanged polite nods as he entered.

                “How is the inspector?” Mycroft asked him.

                “Depends, he won’t go to his physio, Molly did get him to eat, but she had to help him, he still has problems with his hands, can’t grasp the utensils properly. His therapist didn’t know the extent of it because Lestrade wasn’t going to his sessions and hadn’t told him. Molly is still with him. After speaking to his psychologist it was agreed that he needed a familiar face with him, so she’s staying there for the time being.” John explained.

                “That’s good,” Sherlock said his attention going back to his microscope. “He has Molly with him.”

                “It’s not good Sherlock, it’s bloody terrible. The man is severely depressed. He needs his friends to support him.” John was exasperated, he couldn’t understand why Sherlock didn’t understand that Lestrade needed all of them, not just John and Molly.

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                One of the staff members had brought a folding bed in for Molly to sleep on so she could stay with Lestrade for the night. She sat on the edge of it watching Lestrade as he slept. One of the reasons she and John decided she should stay was so that Molly could talk to the inspector’s therapist the next morning and hopefully convince Lestrade to continue. He began muttering something, Molly wondered how long he had been suffering from nightmares. She took his hand, began stroking the back of it. She wasn’t sure what else to do to reassure him. His eyes opened and he looked at her.

                “You’re still here,” he said, sounding surprised. “Thought you went home.”

                “No Greg, I told you I wouldn’t leave you. I’m staying right here.” She gave him a small, reassuring smile. “You need to sleep though. Do you want me to call the nurse, ask her for something to help you go to sleep?”

                Lestrade just shook his head. “It’s ok, thanks.”               

                “Do you have nightmares often?” Molly tilted her head and looked at him.

                “Sometimes. Don’t know how often.” He mumbled quietly.

                “Does your psychologist know about the nightmares?”

                “She might. I may have mentioned it to her.”

                “She needs to know Greg. The people here want to help you but you have to let them.” Molly chided gently.

                Lestrade nodded.

                “Sure you don’t want the nurse to get you something to help you sleep?”

                “No, I’m fine. Thanks though.”

                “Try to go back to sleep. We’ll talk more in the morning.” Molly was still holding his hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. Lestrade nodded and closed his eyes.

                Molly wasn’t sure what to do to help him. He needed sleep, but if he was having nightmares then he may not be getting enough. She wasn’t sure what made her decide to do it, but she stood and climbed into the bed next to him, putting her arms around him as he slept. Before long, she was asleep too.

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                Molly woke the next morning with Lestrade still beside her, at first she thought he was still asleep.

                “Thank you for staying with me.” He muttered into the pillow. Molly realized he still wasn’t strong enough to roll over to face her.

                “Of course Greg. You knew I would,” she rose from the bed as one of the attendants brought breakfast in, this time for both of them.

                “Think you can eat?” Molly asked gently as the trays were placed in front of them. Lestrade shrugged slightly, Molly knew she would need to help him again, as he was still having problems holding anything.

                After some resistance, Lestrade finally agreed to let Molly feed him, though he kept insisting she eat her own because it would be cold.

                “I can eat mine later Greg. Right now you need to.” She lifted a forkful of eggs towards Lestrade’s mouth.

                Not long after he finished, the therapist arrived for his morning session. Since Molly was there they were hoping it would be easier to get Lestrade to go.

                Lestrade looked to Molly, hoping she wouldn’t leave while he was in his session.

                “It’s alright. I’m staying right here. Go to your session and I’ll see you when you come back.” Molly assured him as the therapist lifted him into a wheelchair. She bent over and kissed him lightly on the cheek, before he was wheeled away by the therapist.

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                Molly was finishing her lukewarm breakfast when John came in, followed by Sherlock, to her surprise.

                “Where’s Lestrade?” Sherlock asked briskly as he entered.

                “He’s in his morning therapy session. He went as long as I promised to be here when he returned. “ Molly informed him. “Why do you care anyway? He’s been here for two weeks already and you haven’t once stopped by to check on him.”

                “I had other pressing matters to attend to, besides, John has been giving me regular updates. Didn’t know you and the inspector were that close.” Sherlock snapped, eyeing the folding bed that hadn’t been slept in and the four-poster that had two indentations in the pillows.

                “We’re friends. He’s having trouble sleeping and I was trying to comfort him. He can’t do anything in his condition anyway. Which, by the way is none of your concern.” Molly was growing heated, she cared for Sherlock as much as she did Lestrade, but he could be maddening at times.

                “Can we please not argue. We are all here for Lestrade.” John interjected. Molly was still glaring at Sherlock, but nodded in agreement. “How was he last night? You said he’s having trouble sleeping?” John asked.

                “He’s having nightmares. Said he doesn’t know how frequently they happen and isn’t sure if he mentioned it to Dr. Keller.” Molly informed him.

                “Which means he probably hasn’t,” John sighed. “When’s his next appointment with her?”

                “This afternoon, after his second therapy session.” Molly told him.

                “Probably wouldn’t hurt to have another talk with her before then,” John pointed out.

                “No, probably not.” Molly nodded in agreement.

                Before they could much further, Donovan came into the room. She looked as if she had run all the way from the car park.

                “Thought I may find you here. Where’s Lestrade?” She asked looking from John to Molly.

                “In therapy. He’ll be back shortly.” Molly informed her.

                “Right. Okay.” She nodded and turned to Sherlock, holding out a file to him.

                “Thought you may find these interesting.” She let him look over the contents before continuing. “Found some e-mails between Scott and Whatley. They were more than old college flatmates.” She explained.

                “They were lovers.” Sherlock nodded as he scanned the e-mails. “Of course, it was the only way for him to completely control Whatley. Where is he now?”

                “He’s under police surveillance. Still can’t charge him as an accessory, but still want to keep tabs on him. He should be arriving at his office about now.” Donovan glanced at her watch.

                “Does he know you found the e-mails?” Sherlock asked after he finished with them.

                “Not yet. Can’t prove much with them anyway, other than that the two were lovers.”

                Sherlock started to say something when Donovan’s mobile rang. She excused herself to answer it.

                A young man in scrubs came in pushing a wheelchair before Donovan finished her phone call. “Right, it’s time for the Inspector’s morning physio. Where is he?” The attendant asked.

                “He already left for his session half an hour ago with the therapist.” Molly explained, puzzled.

                “No, the inspector wasn’t scheduled until 9:30am, it’s just now 9:15.” The attendant told them.

                Sherlock knew something was wrong, a growing feeling in the pit of his stomach, he and John exchanged glances. John felt it too.

                “We have a problem,” Donovan came running back into the room. “The surveillance team has lost Whatley, He stopped at a coffee house and apparently went out a different exit. They don’t know where he is.” She started to look panicked.

                “I do. I need to know where all the exits are located in this building and where a person could hide.” Sherlock turned to the attendant.

                “Umm, not sure, “He stammered, getting a look from Sherlock he continued “There’s a map in the main office though. They need it in case there’s an emergency.”

                “Which this is so would you please retrieve it for us? Quickly.” Sherlock insisted. The young man nodded and bolted from the room.

                “So you think Whatley’s here?” Donovan asked, skeptically.

                “Of course. Lestrade ruined his lover’s life, cost him his career, his revenge plot didn’t work and now Scott is dead.”

                “But I killed Scott, not Lestrade.” Molly pointed out softly.

                “Doesn’t matter. In Whatley’s eyes, Lestrade is solely responsible.” Sherlock looked toward the door, expecting the attendant to come back.

                “He’s been gone less than two minutes Sherlock. The office is on the other side of the building. Give the poor man time.” John exclaimed.

                “Time, is not something we may not have, John.” Turning to Molly “You said they left about half an hour ago?” She nodded.

                “They could be anywhere then. May have even left the grounds by now.” Donovan pointed out.

                “No, they’re still here. Lestrade can’t walk on his own, would be too obvious for Whatley to push him to the car park, especially this early in the morning. No, they haven’t left, just need to figure out where they are.” Sherlock closed his eyes so he could concentrate on what he knew of the building so far.

                A few minutes later, the attendant came running back with a map of the building and the grounds. Sherlock quickly scanned it while going through possible scenarios in his head of where they could be.

                “I know where they are,” he said after a few seconds and darted from the room, John, Donovan and Molly following behind, leaving the attendant in the room completely bewildered.

                They ran down several corridors, down a flight of stairs, another corridor, finally Sherlock stopped. He held out his hand to the others as they came up behind them, signaling them to be quiet. Slowly he turned a corner, at the end of the corridor was a man dressed in scrubs pushing a wheelchair towards a door marked “incinerator.”

                “Stop right there Whatley,” Sherlock called out.

                The figure stopped, froze momentarily before slowly turning to face them.

                “It’s over Whatley. Let him go and come with us. You have nowhere to go.” Sherlock called to him. Heard John and Donovan behind him, both had guns drawn and aimed at Whatley.

                “No. It’s not over. He must pay for what he did.” Whatley cried back.

                “He did nothing. Scott was the one responsible, not Lestrade.” Sherlock countered.

                “He ruined his life. Our life. Nick couldn’t work after what the inspector did,” Whatley spat the last part like a bad taste in his mouth.

                “Scott ruined his own life. He made a mistake and had to pay for it. You cannot blame the inspector for that.” John chimed in.

                Whatley suddenly grabbed Lestrade and pulled him out of the wheelchair, holding a scalpel to his neck.

                “Nick loved me. He loved me and I loved him. We were going to have a life together. This man took it all away from us,” Whatley’s face was turning red, tears sliding down his cheeks.

                “He didn’t. He couldn’t. The only person Scott loved was himself. He only did what he did to control you. He never loved you.” Sherlock kept his voice calm and even, though inside he was full of panic. What if something happened and the scalpel cut Lestrade. He wasn’t strong enough to survive an injury like that. He couldn’t let Whatley know his fear though. He had to remain calm.

                “He did love me!” Whatley insisted, tears coming faster now.

                “He wasn’t capable of love. He could only manipulate the feelings of those around him. Look at the man you are holding. He can’t even stand on his own. Scott did that to him. That is not something an ordinary, loving person would do. That is actions of a cold, manipulative narcissist who only cared about himself.” Sherlock continued.

                “He told me he loved me. He said he did!” Whatley screamed. He suddenly dropped Lestrade to the ground and put the scalpel to his own neck. Before anyone could stop him, he slid it deep into his neck, blood spraying out of the fresh wound. He dropped to the ground beside Lestrade.

                “NO!” Sherlock cried, he and John ran to Whatley’s side, Sherlock pulling off his scarf to compress the wound. Molly and Donovan went to Lestrade’s side while the Sergeant called for an ambulance. She looked at John when she was talking to dispatch, John shook his head. Donovan cancelled the ambulance and called the morgue.

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                After the death of Whatley, they all knew it was finally over. There was no one left connected to Scott that could harm Lestrade. It took quite a bit of coaxing from Molly, but Lestrade finally agreed to continue his physio. After the incident with Whatley he initially didn’t want to continue, but Molly convinced him otherwise, along with a few lighthearted threats from Donovan.

                Lestrade was at the rehab facility for 8 more weeks before he was finally allowed to go home, however he still had outpatient therapy sessions 3 days a week for the next 2 months.

                He returned to his flat to find that someone had been keeping it clean and doing regular tidying up while he was gone. It didn’t take long to figure out who, however. Upon entering the kitchen there was a tin of biscuits on his kitchen table that read:

                **Welcome home Inspector”**

**Mrs. H**

                Lestrade had also learned some time ago that someone was paying his rent. He never knew exactly who, but had a feeling the British government was somehow involved.

                Wood has come to see Lestrade about a week before he was discharged. His job was still his if he wanted it. Lestrade agreed readily, he didn’t want to lose his job as result of what had happened.

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                Finally, almost a year after the entire nightmare began, Lestrade returned to work at Scotland Yard. He still walked with a cane and couldn’t go out to the field, but he was finally back in his office. By the stack of paperwork, he may not be able to leave his office for a long time anyway.

                His team had put up a banner and decorations for him when he returned, all cheering as he made his way to his office, Molly at his side, holding his arm.

                As Lestrade settled in behind his desk, the cane propped against it, Molly leaned in and kissed him lightly on the forehead.

                “Welcome back Inspector Lestrade,” She whispered.

                “Thank you, Mrs. Lestrade,” He smiled, glancing at the matching rings on their left hands.

               

               

 

 

 

 

               

                               

 

                                               

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

               

                               

 


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